Apologies for taking this long with the next chapter. To make up for that, I give you the longest chapter I have ever written. This one was for a prompt from uno mega: Would you ever consider writing a chapter from Jacko's perspective–after Kate disappears? Fics never usually deal with the lives that get left behind for their OCs and I'm impossibly curious now. I recently found out there's a very good reason why people usually never bother with it, because it is hard. Nevertheless, I you'll all enjoy this piece and that this is what you hoped it to be, uno mega!

Chapter 9

Missing, Assumed Dead

She had been worrying. What would her family do if they discovered Kate had quite literally disappeared off the face of the earth? She imagined they would call the police, start an investigation. The police would search for her, investigate every clue until the trail inevitably went dead. As time dragged on, they would start to give up hope, tell her loved ones to prepare for the worst…

The Journal, Chapter 6: Uncomfortable Situations

When he looked back on it later, Jacko Andrews would always be able to say exactly when the nightmare had begun. And to think that it was just such a normal Tuesday afternoon. If that wasn't a cruel reminder that normal days could turn into hell, then he didn't know what was.

He was in the supermarket, having gone there after work to buy the necessities for dinner, as the fridge had turned out to be rather empty when he had inspected it that morning. What little it was that remained had all gone bad. He chalked it up to too many takeaways and dinners at Jane's place in the past week. His not so very well developed cooking skills had nothing to do with the matter whatsoever. That was what he said out loud anyway. If called upon he would claim that there were just others who could cook so much better than he ever would.

True, living on his own was just not as easy as he had always expected it to be. How his mother balanced running a household and a full-time job, he'd never know. What he did know was that his mother probably would faint at the sight of his flat. Best keep her away.

He was in the queue for the check-out when his mobile phone rang. The number on the screen was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. And now admittedly was not the time to think about it; people were staring. 'Jacko Andrews.'

'Hi, this is Laura Porter,' a female voice replied. The voice, like the number, was familiar, and he had the annoying feeling that the name should mean something as well, but he drew a blank. 'Kate's flatmate,' she added helpfully before he could embarrass himself by having to ask for her name.

'Ah.' In hindsight he should have known that. Laura Porter: green eyes, black hair down to her waist, and a mouth that never seemed to stop moving for even a second. Kate and she had been thick as thieves from the age of five. It didn't explain why she was calling him. They had never been friends – he had always taken care to lock himself in his room when she came over – and as far as Jacko was aware, she didn't even have his number. 'How did you get my number?'

'Kate's address book,' Laura said. Was it just his imagination, or was she a bit nervous? 'Look, I know this sounds a bit insane, but is there any chance that Kate is with you?'

He didn't know about insane, but this was unexpected. 'Not that I know of,' he answered, frown on his face as he tried to pay for the groceries and keep a conversation on the phone going at the same time. 'Why are you asking?'

That set off a rambled explanation. 'Well, she was going on a hiking trip for two weeks, but she was due back on Sunday afternoon, only she never came. I've tried calling her mobile, but I think it's switched off, straight on to voicemail. Then I tried the travel agency, Magical Trips, but the phone number's apparently not in existence right now and when I googled the address, it turned out there's an accountant's office. I don't know where she is, but it's not like her!' It sounded frustrated as well as a tad bit scared.

Laura seemed slightly out of breath after her hurried explanation, which couldn't have taken up more than twenty seconds, if that, and Jacko was having a physical reaction to her words himself; his blood had run cold and his skin was crawling in the same way it had done when his father had walked out on them almost ten years ago.

'Have you tried my mother?' he asked. He wouldn't put a lot of money on that bet, though. His twin was nothing if not punctual and she made it her habit always to tell someone where she was and when she would be back. If she had told Laura that she would be back on Sunday, she expected to be back on Sunday. If there had been a change of plan, then Laura, as her flatmate, would have been the very first to know. As it was, there could be any number of explanations for this disappearing act, but something about this felt wrong, especially the bit about that travel agency being nowhere to be found.

'I didn't want to alarm her,' Laura admitted. 'So I thought I'd call you first.'

'You did the right thing,' Jacko assured her. His mother wasn't frail, not by any stretch of the imagination – she had survived seventeen years of marriage to John Andrews after all – but Kate having gone missing would be a shock and the news might be better coming from him. 'I'll ask her myself. In the meantime, can you call her friends, colleagues? You said you had her address book, right?' Maybe he was overreacting and Kate would either laugh and call him a fool, or she would snap at him to stop being such a big baby since she was a grown-up and could look after herself perfectly, thank you very much. There was also the possibility that something really was wrong.

'So, you don't think I'm overreacting?' Laura asked, seeming relieved that he was actually taking her seriously.

'You know Kate,' he said. 'If she says she'll be somewhere, she'll be there.' And something about that travel agency was off, too. 'Call me if you find anything, and even if you don't.'

He was so distracted that he almost left the supermarket without his groceries until a girl ran after him, carrying the items in her arms, and pushing them into his with a look that clearly stated she didn't think much of his intelligence. Kate would probably have come up with some witty remark or a bark in annoyance, but Jacko had never been the type for that. Jacko pouts, Kate shouts, their father used to say in the good old days when he was still living with them. As much as Jacko despised him now, there was truth in that. He'd like to think that he had outgrown the pouting, but he was still the more thoughtful type, whereas Kate was impulsive and easily vexed.

It had started to rain when he left the supermarket and so he waited till he was back in his car before he made the call to his mother. Best to get this over with.

The phone was answered after just two rings. 'Helen Andrews.'

'Hi, mum. It's Jacko.'

'That's a nice surprise!' she exclaimed. 'You don't call all that often anymore.'

And how he wished he had a more pleasant reason to make this particular call. 'Sorry,' he apologised. 'I take it Kate calls more often than I do?' His twin would have barged in and asked the question straightaway, but Jacko wasn't like that. If he could he would rather not alarm her, not in the least because he would probably look a right fool if he worked himself up into a panic for nothing. He didn't think that he was – either panicking or panicking for nothing – but he'd rather not take the risk all the same.

'Not much,' his mother admitted. 'But she lives nearby.'

'I'd visit more often, but it's quite a drive,' he said, not sure why this felt like it was an accusation when he was fairly sure it had not been meant that way. 'And how is my favourite sister these days?'

'She's your only sister,' his mother countered. 'But she's fine, I think. She went on a hiking trip, but I haven't heard from her since. Too busy having fun to text, I shouldn't wonder.'

Maybe you should wonder. He didn't like the sound of this at all. 'So, actually you haven't seen her for weeks?'

If he was hoping that he had kept the worry out of his voice, he was in for a big disappointment. 'Jacko, are you all right? Is something wrong?'

'I don't know,' he answered honestly. 'I don't know.'

A few hours later he did know. He'd told his mother that Laura had some trouble locating Kate, and that he would come over to try and find out what they could before they would take this to the police. He didn't want to look a fool, and so he kept it to himself, but he could almost feel that something wasn't quite right. Besides, he didn't go in for all that nonsense about "sensing" that things were wrong or dangerous. Still, he had to admit that this didn't feel right as he went through Kate's things with Laura, feeling a bit guilty about doing so without her permission. If she ever found out, she would probably raise merry hell about it and he would have to grovel on his knees for her forgiveness.

'There's nothing,' Laura told him. She had been mostly silent, which was in sharp contrast with her usual chatter. She had done as he asked and called every person in Kate's address book, only to hear that none of them had seen her in two weeks or longer. What her calling had done was alarm every single person of Kate's acquaintance, not exactly the result Jacko had in mind when he asked her to do it. 'Just that holiday brochure. Here, take a look at it.'

He did exactly that. The thing was that there was nothing about it that suggested this wasn't a perfectly normal flyer. There was an address and a phone number. There wasn't an email address though, which was strange. Surely no travel agency would be so behind the times not to have one, or a website, come to think of it? Had Kate noticed? Or had she just shrugged it off, as Jacko himself might have done if he had been in any other situation than this one? Would he have noticed if he had been in her shoes? He knew almost for certain that he wouldn't have. Only now that he was trying to look for clues did it jump off the page.

Whatever it was he had been looking for – and he wasn't even certain what exactly that was, notes maybe, diary, anything that might tell them were Kate was – it wasn't there and he got to his feet, more frustrated and, yes he would admit it, afraid than he had been before. This was nothing like what his sister would do, not normally, not ever. Something must have happened to her. God forbid, she might even be dead. She had left two weeks ago and only now had Laura sounded the alarm. It wasn't that he blamed her for that – she couldn't have known any sooner and with Kate herself being on holiday, as planned – but that could mean that she had been in danger for two whole weeks already. Now that was nothing to calm his nerves in any way.

'There's nothing,' he agreed. A look at his watch told him that it was well past midnight already and both of them were looking tired. 'We'll have to report her missing in the morning.'

Laura nodded, defeat written all over her face. There were no words, though. Jacko himself hardly knew what to say. He only felt that it was his task to take charge, and so he had to.

'I can look after the cat,' he offered. The animal was Kate's, a white cat with black paws and a black patch on the tip of its tail by the name of Fidget. Laura didn't much like it, and now that it seemed that Kate may not be home anytime soon, it seemed polite to offer. 'I'm staying with my mother. She'll be more than happy…'

He wasn't allowed to finish that sentence. 'I'll look after him,' Laura interrupted, as she picked the cat up from the floor and practically clutched him to her chest. 'It's no problem. I can do it.'

Even Jacko knew that Laura all but detested the beast and that Kate practically had to bribe her into caring for him while she was away. But he didn't question her actions, not now. He heard that which wasn't spoken. It was the fear that if both of them acknowledged that Kate might not come home – even if it was in removing her cat – then it would become real and she would never be home again.

Things did not look better in the morning. Jacko didn't know why he had thought – or hoped, more like – that they would be, but they weren't. Kate still was not there. But then, this was not where she lived. Could it be that she had turned up at her own home? He didn't think it likely, but he phoned Laura all the same.

'It's Jacko,' he told her when the phone was answered after just two rings. 'Is there any chance…?'

Laura spared him the need to finish the question. 'She isn't here.'

Jacko tried to squash the feeling of disappointment. It wasn't as if he hadn't known already that she would not be there; Laura would have called if she had miraculously turned up in the middle of the night, never mind the time. Still, it felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut by an angry mule. Bloody hell, Kate, where are you?

It wasn't the fact that she was not here – Kate was forever dashing here, there and everywhere – it was the not knowing that made him feel as if he could fall ill at any moment now, he pondered as he shaved. His mother was already downstairs, or maybe he should say that she was still downstairs; the door to her bedroom was open and her bed looked remarkably unslept in. Not that Jacko himself had gotten much rest. Most of the night had been spent in tossing, turning and wondering. His mind had come up with worst case scenarios that made the worst horror movies appear like children's cartoons.

True to expectations his mother was pale and sporting dark rings under her eyes as she handed him a cup of coffee, that he sorely needed. Coffee didn't make things better, but at least it cleared his mind, and the last thing he could use was to appear like a babbling idiot when he wanted the police people to take him seriously. And he needed the police to take him seriously, because his sister was missing and he had no idea where she was or what had happened to her. The thought was more frightening than he had thought possible.

'I found a good photograph to take with you,' his mother said, pushing the aforementioned picture at him from across the table. It was a fairly recent one, taken last Christmas, when they had celebrated with just the four of them; his mother, Kate, Jane and himself. A small party only, but it had been great. In the picture Kate was laughing at the camera, that mocking half-smile on her face as she scoffed at Jacko that he really ought to learn how to handle a camera before he attempted to use it.

He forced himself to smile and nod his thanks. Suddenly it seemed awfully difficult to speak. 'Thank you. It's a good picture.'

He stared at his coffee rather than the picture, though. Somehow it felt a bit painful to look at Kate's smiling face when she might very well be dead. He didn't think she was; he'd like to think that he'd know somehow if she was. They were twins, weren't they supposed to sense how the other was, being closer than most siblings? But he could sense nothing except the uncertainty. He could only guess, and his guessing didn't make him feel any calmer at all.

'I thought so.' Helen Andrews was famous for talking, well, chatting. As long as Jacko could remember she had filled the house with the sound of her chattering. There was no chatter now. All there was, was silence.

Jacko didn't think of himself as a melancholy type, much less as one with a love of theatrics. He liked to think of himself as practical, as capable of keeping a cool head in crisis situations, but that attitude was rather failing him now. Fear was a paralytic, not a motivator. He knew he should turn his anxiety about his twin into action, but he found it hard to do so.

The longer you sit here and wallow, the greater the chance that Kate is dead. He didn't know how that thought crept into his head, but it did the job of snapping him out of his lethargy. This was what he needed, the thought that what he did actually mattered, the idea that his actions could make a difference, that as long as he was doing something, there was actually a chance that Kate was still alive.

And just like that his organising nature resurfaced. There were things that needed doing, and he was the one to do them. Already he was making a list in his head. So he gulped down the last remnants of coffee and got up. 'I'll pick up Laura,' he announced, picking up the picture, pointedly avoiding to look at it. He'd gotten out of his mood now, and he didn't want to risk sliding back into it. He took a deep breath. 'And someone needs to tell dad.' There was something very wrong about calling that man by the title of dad, which indicated a measure of warmth and affection, and Jacko felt neither. He'd never really gotten along with him, but Kate had clung to him for as long as she could, a daddy's girl to the core, although she hadn't seen him in years now either. For as far as Jacko was aware, contact between them was non-existent. Still, he would need to be told.

'He wasn't in Kate's address book?' his mother asked.

'Address crossed out, phone number unreadable.' He had seen that only the evening before. Laura had mentioned it to him, after which she asked if it would be worth a try to call him if Jacko had his number, which he didn't have. Anyway, it would be a waste of time, he'd told her; Kate had not seen him in years. Why would she suddenly do so now? But he needed to know anyway. And it would be better coming from Jacko than from a stranger. Or that was what he liked to think at least.

It was difficult to say how long the interview with the police lasted for. It felt like a lifetime on one hand, and a short mere seconds on the other. To be honest, Jacko found it hard to recall much of it later. It was all a bit of a blur as he answered questions and tried to get it into a thick skull that his sister wasn't one for running off or disappearing into a drug den – at which point he had almost bodily hauled the bloody idiot interviewing him over the table – before someone with more sense took over. This one did take him seriously, and so Jacko found himself repeating his story again, with Laura to back him up. She was interrogated about when she had last seen Kate, what Kate had been like then – hurried and excited – and every last detail about that trip she was supposed to go on. Laura handed over the brochure – Jacko was glad he'd made copies the previous evening – and had to admit that she didn't know much. They'd both been so busy that they hadn't had much time to chat. There were alarmingly little facts to go on, and it was not something that had escaped Jacko's notice. Kate's entire disappearance was shrouded in mystery.

And it did nothing to improve his mood. He dropped off Laura and then found a quiet little restaurant with Wi-Fi to eat and find out his father's address. He'd checked Kate's address book, but his twin had gone to great lengths to make it unreadable, and he had to google to find out what he needed to know. While his laptop was still in the process of booting up, and his food had not yet arrived, he gave Kate's mobile phone another try. 'Hi, this is Kate Andrews. Or well, it's my voicemail actually. I am currently unable to take your call – or I have accidentally left my phone at home again – so please leave a message and I'll try to call you back as soon as I can.' It was almost a relief to hear his sister's voice, even only on her voicemail. She sounded so cheerful there, so carefree, that Jacko could almost be fooled into believing that she was all right. But then he remembered that this was not really Kate and that her welcome message was only a poor substitute for the Kate he really wanted to see.

It was strange really, he pondered as he ate his food without really tasting it. He had not been very close with her, close enough, but not as thick as thieves. They could go weeks without seeing one another, and neither of them had a problem with that, but when they did meet, it was almost always with warmth and ease. But Jacko hadn't really thought about Kate for a few weeks, not until Laura had phoned him yesterday, but now Kate took centre stage, right away. It was because she wasn't here now that he was worried, extremely so. It was because he could already be too late and he wished to God they had spent more time together, as he would have done if only he knew this was coming.

You don't know if it's too late. He immediately called himself to order. They didn't know anything yet. There could still be some reasonable explanation for all of this. Something could have gone a tad bit wrong with the trip, and therefore her mobile stopped working or something like that. But he dismissed that thought again the very next second, because if that was the case, why then would the travel agency have vanished? No, there was something very fishy about all of that. And why would someone go to all that trouble of inventing such a company only to abduct his sister? It didn't make any sense. Kate wasn't someone who got into trouble with the kind of people who could afford to do such things. She got into trouble often enough – well, she talked herself into trouble, more like – but not that kind of trouble. She was just an ordinary woman, not someone who deserved that kind of special attention. Mystery indeed. Frustration ruled supreme, although he could hardly deny the growing panic underneath.

It helped to do something, but not much. Still, he googled his father's address and then, on an impulse, entered the words Magical Trips into the search browser. The results that came up were mostly about Magical Tours, while Google helpfully asked him if he had not meant that perhaps. No, he hadn't, but it couldn't hurt to look over the results all the same, only to realise that was a waste of his time. The very first link in the list was something about spiritual holidays, and he was quite sure that was the kind of nonsense Kate really did not have the patience for. He looked up the address in the brochure and added that to the name. The no results found message that appeared on the screen made his heart sink, even though he had known in advance that it was unlikely to turn up any satisfactory results. But really, what had he expected? Had he really thought that he could find answers on the internet? He had been a bloody fool for even hoping.

With that, he finished his meal, gathered his belongings, paid and left the restaurant. He had a visit to pay to his father. Now there was something he definitely not looking forward to, but it had to be done. A small voice in his head whispered that maybe Kate was with him, but Jacko squashed that voice right away. Even if there had been nothing wrong with that travel agency, then he was still the last person she would have gone to. She had done that once, about six years ago, and without telling him until after it had all been said and done. Judging by the way she told the story, things had not gone well, and that was even with all the editing she had done. What she had told him included the part about their father having remarried and having a son with his new wife. Henry was the kid's name, she'd said. Jacko had been a tad bit curious after hearing he had a half-sibling, but he didn't think it was worth the trouble to go and see for himself. It wasn't as if his father took an interest in him these days after all, and Jacko found that he could live his life without him easily enough. He didn't need his father in his life, not the way Kate had needed him, even though she would probably rather die than admit to such a thing.

The sun was shining when he parked his car and walked the path to the front door, something that seemed wholly inappropriate for a day such as this one. He couldn't help but notice that his father had done well for himself indeed if he could afford to live in a house such as this one. He'd done professionally well, if not personally.

Part of him really didn't want to be here, would gladly leave this job to the police, but then, that would be cowardly behaviour and Jacko Andrews was not a coward. Besides, there wasn't much else he could do at the moment and he found he needed to do something, anything, if he didn't want to go mad instantly. That was quite possibly the only reason he actually rang the doorbell after staring at it for a solid five minutes.

'I'll get it!' someone yelled inside as soon as the noise died down. It was a child's voice. 'Leave it, Tara, I can do it. I'm the oldest!' He was yelling loud enough that Jacko could hear every word.

The door opened before he could analyse the voice any further, and for a moment it was like being hit in the chest with a sledgehammer, the face that looked up at him was that familiar. If not for the fair hair and green eyes, it could have been Kate at age eight or nine. No doubt this was the half-brother she had mentioned; the messy hair was a dead giveaway. The Andrews curse they used to call it, since every born Andrews seemed to suffer from it.

'Hello!' the child said, looking far too happy. 'I'm Henry Andrews. Who are you?'

'I am Jacko,' he answered, omitting his surname as to not confuse the boy. That would lead to questions, and he hadn't come here to answer those. 'I'm here to see my… your father,' he added, catching and correcting himself at the last possible moment. 'Is he at home?'

The child nodded so enthusiastically that he would probably give himself a headache. 'He's in his study. Tara, you go and get dad, I'll look after Mr Jacko.' He seemed awfully pleased with himself for thinking up this arrangement.

The girl standing behind him, a six-year old child with the same messy hair – although it was as red as Jacko and Kate's – and blue eyes, positively glared at her brother. 'Why?' she demanded.

'Because I'm the oldest,' Henry said. 'And you're not supposed to talk to strangers.'

The girl – Tara? – took that for all that it was worth. 'You're not supposed to talk to strangers either,' she countered. 'But I'll do it, just this once.' She smiled deviously. 'You'll owe me a favour.' No wondering where she got all that cunning from; her father was just as bad.

Jacko was just glad that the whole confrontation was over and that he was now shown to the living room. Henry seemed to enjoy the job of playing host to a visitor, holding open doors with a polite smile and chatting non-stop about his favourite football team and his school, which only required Jacko to listen and nod every now and then. And that was a good thing, because he was hardly in a mood for chatter himself. Here he was, meeting his half-siblings, who didn't even know or suspect that they were related, all while on a mission to tell his father that the only sibling he did want to see was missing. He had been in more pleasant situations to be sure.

He had been in less awkward ones too, and it certainly became awkward when the door opened and Tara dashed in again, announcing that she had found her dad, and he would be here soon, would the visitor perhaps care for something to drink? She wasn't allowed to make tea, but she could get something else. It really didn't help matters that she sounded so like Kate when she chattered.

Jacko was on the verge on asking for whisky – God knew he could use a bit of alcohol in his system if he was expected to deal with this and leave with his sanity intact – but that was something he could hardly ask of a child and so he said he was fine, thank you. And thankfully he didn't need to bother with any more attempts at conversation, because his father entered. He was older than Jacko remembered him being, but with almost ten years in between meetings, that was to be expected. His hair had mostly turned grey, but was just as messy and curly as it had always been. There were more wrinkles too, but all in all he looked relaxed, like someone who went through life without stress, without a care in the world. It stung that he had almost never looked like that when he had still been married to Jacko's mother, not that he could remember anyway.

'Jacko?' John Andrews had stopped in the doorway, jaw dropping, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

'Yes.' He didn't even think about acknowledging that man as dad, not with his two children from another marriage in the same room, and then quite probably not even without them in the room.

It was as if his father had read his mind. 'Henry, Tara, go and play in your rooms.'

The boy frowned. 'Why?'

'Because I say so, that's why. Now.'

The children looked infinitely curious, but they did as they were told, which was probably nothing short of a miracle. It was also a miracle that Jacko was infinitely grateful for. The last thing he wanted was to spend more time with the living and breathing reminders that his father was a lying bastard without as much as an ounce of regret in his body for the havoc he had wreaked on the lives of his former wife and two other children.

'Please sit,' his father said.

Jacko was tempted to say that he'd rather remain standing, but he had a lot to tell and that would be better if it was done from a sitting position. He gave a nod and did as he was asked to.

'Why are you here?' The tone of voice wasn't exactly hostile, but neither was it very welcoming. But then, he had not expected that it would. There was too much bad blood between them. There was mostly surprise, and confusion too.

Well, if his father could be blunt, Jacko could do that trick as well. 'Kate has gone missing.'

Whatever it was that his father had expected, this was not it. He stared at Jacko in what looked like a greater state of shock than he had put on display than when he had come into the room and had found his estranged son in his living room. No doubt Kate would have a scathing remark ready had their roles been reversed, but Jacko had always liked to think of him as the most grown-up of the two of them. At the very least he was less impulsive, less likely to explode.

'I'm sorry?' Those were the words he opted on in the end.

'Kate has gone missing,' Jacko repeated. 'Her friend phoned me last night. She hasn't come back from her holiday.' Those were possibly the hardest words he had ever needed to say, even though he had said them at the police station this morning already. Each time he spoke the words it started to feel more and more real, more like something that was actually happening, and not just a nightmare of his.

He ended up explaining everything, and throughout the conversation he saw his father's attitude shift from shocked and not understanding to alert and interested. He even took a notepad from the side table to make notes, the way he might do when he had clients. Jacko wasn't entirely sure what to make of the idea that now he had apparently been degraded to client, but at the same time he should probably be glad that he wasn't met with blatant disinterest for what he had to tell. Maybe John Andrews cared for his eldest daughter more than he'd let on in recent years. But then, Kate had always been a daddy's girl, and before they started fighting at every opportunity, they had been close. If he was not very much mistaken, he may even have seen a flash of regret on his face when Jacko explained that they had called everyone in Kate's address book, and he must have realised that since he had not received a call, he wasn't in her address book anymore.

'What would you like me to do?' was the question at the end of the story. It sounded like he meant it, but Jacko knew better than to take his word for anything these days.

'When they catch a suspect, you could do me the favour of not defending him in court,' Jacko remarked wryly, not quite sure what to make of this change in behaviour. Whatever it was that he had been expecting, this was not it. His father had never cared one iota for any of the family he had left behind. Why would that change because Kate was missing?

'Jacko, I meant it.' He almost sounded pleading.

'Yes, so did I,' Jacko countered. 'You never cared. You just walked out. And you know what? We did just fine without you. We don't need you now.'

'Yes, you do. You need my contacts, the people I know,' his father said. 'I know we didn't always get along very well…'

'You can say that again,' Jacko muttered.

His father ignored that. 'But Kate is my daughter and I do care.'

'Yes, your particular brand of caring seems to involve not telling your wife about us and not getting in touch for years on end. Forgive me if I misunderstood. Mea maxima culpa.' Too late he realised he was employing Kate's unique type of sarcasm to get back at his father, and that was probably not the best way to go about this, especially because he was right and they would need all the help they could get. Kate would need all the help Jacko could get, and she would not thank him for messing this up. She might not be alive to scold him for it if he made a mess of this. Now that helped him to set his priorities straight. 'I'm sorry.' It took considerable effort to get the words out of his mouth. 'Is there anything you can really do?'

'I think there is.' It looked like determination, the emotion on his face. Jacko found it hard to suppress some of the relief he felt. 'Listen, Jacko, I know that you do not like me, but can we work together, for Kate's sake?'

Jacko recognised this for what it was, an unparalleled attempt at emotional blackmail. He was even more pissed off because it was working. By dragging Kate into this conversation, he had effectively ensured Jacko's cooperation. And for a moment he wasn't entirely sure if he should be glad of the help, or extremely furious for being used like this.

In the end it turned out that he was more glad than furious, because this was something that his father, for reasons beyond Jacko's comprehension, seemed to take seriously. Not that there was any more conversation than was strictly required, and most of it was by phone anyway. Even his mother approved of the arrangement, as long as she didn't have to be the one to do the communicating, which meant that Jacko was the go-between. Not a role he fancied taking on – it had always been Kate in that position – but for his sister's sake he was willing to put up with it. And, quite frankly, it was remarkable what people were prepared to do for her when the news broke that she was missing, in the form of an appeal on television. Most of the assistance and sympathies – things Jacko hated, because they seemed to imply that people believed she was dead – offered came from friends and distant family, just the usual rallying of forces and sticking together in case of a crisis. When however the guy who had cheated on Kate some years ago, Marc, came knocking, Jacko immediately sent him away. He had that guilty look and the nervous disposition of someone who feared that they would be taken for a suspect and quickly started smarming their way around the family to kill suspicion. A lot of people who had been annoyed with his sister had started to act like that, and Jacko had sent them all away. He didn't think they had anything to do with the matter anyway; not enough money and power to pull off such a thing.

The support did help, but mostly Jacko found it increasingly hard to deal with. Kate's face on television screens was a bit of a giveaway, and had made sure that every single person of his acquaintance knew what was going on. He'd avoided them for a week, but when that week ended and there was still no sign of his sister, his mother reminded him that using up all his days off was not going to bring Kate back and that he had to go back to his own flat. He would have to face life, much as he hated the thought. It felt like giving up.

He hated the thought even more when he got back to work and he was either assaulted by the sympathy shower or avoided like he had the plague, as if having a sister gone missing was contagious and they feared one of their own loved ones might disappear if they came too close to him. Jane was nothing short of a blessing, explaining that they just didn't know what to say to him, not knowing how he would take it. What she didn't say, but what Jacko could read as subtext, was that a lot of people did the same thing when someone had lost someone to death. That thought did nothing to make him feel better at all.

And things only got worse as time dragged on. After two weeks the despair had settled quite comfortably under his skin and in his stomach, giving him little appetite and robbing him of his much-needed sleep. Jane expressed worry for him, but Jacko ignored the concern as he phoned the police another time, demanding an update, all but ordering them to tell him that Kate had been found alive. His hands shook and his eyes burned when they told him that there was no clue to be found.

Four weeks on the police had still not seen hide nor hair of Kate, and that was when his father launched the idea to hire a private detective. Jacko hardly had the funds to pay for such a thing, but John Andrews assured him that the costs were not for him to worry over. Normally he would have argued over such a thing, but if this was he needed to do to get Kate back, then he would let his father pay, even though he did stop to wonder what on earth had caused him to change so drastically.

'Is he any good?' he asked. 'The detective?'

'He isn't quite Sherlock Holmes,' his father admitted. 'But only just. He's good enough, Jacko. And he owes me several favours.'

Jacko decided not to ask, and instead just gave him the green light to go ahead and do what needed doing. He was desperate enough to give it a try.

Eight weeks and counting it looked like the detective – Patrick Miles – didn't have any more success than the police though. He had been told that whoever had abducted Kate, because by now it was quite obvious that was the case, had been very, very clever about what they did. They had left no evidence behind them except that one brochure, and that was hardly anything at all to go on, since Magical Trips did not exist, and never had, and there was no tracing where the brochure had come from in the first place. That was their only clue, but it led to a dead end. He had known – feared – this for a while, but it didn't make the news any easier to bear. Jacko tried Kate's mobile again after that meeting, alone in his flat, when Jane had gone out to see her mother, listening to the recording of his twin's voice at least a dozen times, feeling wearier than he had in months.

In the twelfth week he visited his mother again, only to find that she wasn't dealing with this any better than Jacko himself was, which was to say: not at all. Her face was pale, there were dark rings underneath her eyes and even he could see that she had lost several pounds, although he was probably not one to lecture her about weight loss when his own appetite had been severely affected by recent events. Not even in the years leading up to the divorce had she looked this bad. They sat in silence for a while, drinking tea. Eventually Jacko shared the details of the case, not liking the fact that there had been so little progress that he could tell everything there was to tell – including details – in a mere three minutes and twenty seconds. His father was trying to get a new appeal on television done, but Jacko didn't think it was going to yield results, not after twelve weeks, fourteen if he counted the two weeks that Kate had supposedly been on holiday. The detective had told him there was a distinct possibility that even if they did find Kate after all this time, there was no guarantee that she was still alive. That was the only detail he omitted in his progress report. Besides, even without him saying it, his mother would know.

He didn't stay long. In fact, he all but fled. Everything in this house reminded him of Kate. He could too easily picture her, sitting curled up on the sofa with her nose stuck in a book, leaning on the counter while their mother was cooking and she pretended to help only so that she could chat and talk about her day, trying their mother's harp and producing a noise that could not be called music by any stretch of the imagination, sitting at the table opposite their mother while they were engaged in a battle of Scrabble – it was never just a game with them, not when they were both so good with words – arguing over whether or not a word one of them had just invented was even a word at all, and if not, why it should be one. The memories were overwhelming and, he realised, extremely unwelcome. Kate, he decided, was like the tooth he had lost when he nine and had a little accident that knocked aforementioned teeth out: gone, and he kept sticking his tongue in the hole she had left behind, more so every day.

Every day, hope started to fade a little more.

Jacko would never say that he was giving up on Kate. How could he? She was his twin, his sister, and one of his best friends. But he wouldn't insist on optimism up to the point of insanity either, and he knew that the chance that Kate was even still alive was extremely small. The police had told them so, the private detective had told them so, friends and family treated them like it was so. As summer changed into autumn and no news had been heard from her, the frustration about the uncertainty started to get the upper hand. He would never wish Kate dead, would never wish that fate for her, but he did want closure, something that could at least tell them if she was dead or alive. But no body had been found, and Kate was still missing. She could have been dead for months.

And, much as he loathed that thought, life went on without her. He'd let Jane whisk him away on a holiday to France during the summer, had gone to work without missing a day after that one week and started eating and sleeping somewhat normally again. And he hated that, because to him it felt too much like accepting the current situation, too much like admitting that she was probably dead and never coming back. He was learning to live with this, not easily, but out of pure necessity, but it terrified him all the same, maybe because he didn't really expect to hear any news by now. With something of a shock he realised that he was on the verge of giving up. He hadn't even really protested when Patrick Miles had warned him that the chances of Kate's survival were unbelievably small.

He was on his way to work at the end of October when his mobile rang. He was driving, and normally he would have ignored the call, but his screen told him that it was his father and he never called if he could reasonably avoid contact, which meant that this had to do with Kate, the only reason they even had contact at all. That decided him, so he parked in the first available parking spot that he saw – a parking spot for disabled people – and answered. 'Jacko Andrews.'

His father didn't bother with the niceties. Normally he gave some indication of to whom Jacko was speaking, but today he even skipped that. 'Miles called,' he reported, a hint of excitement to his voice. 'The police have found a witness to Kate's abduction.'

When called on later, Jacko would violently deny having been the source of that choking noise that was audible when that news properly sank in. There was news. No, even more, there was a witness. Months of silence, but now there was a witness. And that meant that there was something to be investigated after all. And that meant that there was still a reason to hope.

'And?' he asked, keeping his fingers crossed for good news.

The news wasn't good. 'The police have dismissed his account. I don't know why. I want to talk to him myself to find out. Would you like to come?'

'Is that even entirely legal?' Jacko asked.

'I don't care about legal,' his father growled down the line, which was quite something out of the mouth of a lawyer. 'I care about finding my daughter.' Indicating that because Jacko was a tad bit worried about the legalities, he didn't care as much about Kate.

Irritated at being put in his place like that, and really not appreciating the fact that he was getting a lecture about caring from the very man who had not cared enough for his family to stay, Jacko snapped: 'Give me the address.' His father obliged, fortunately refraining from adding any more "helpful" commentary. 'Give me two hours. I'll meet you there.' He hung up before his father could say anything more.

It was more of a two and a half hour drive, but this phone call was like someone had lit a fire under his arse. It was the first news he'd had in ages and he wanted to hear it. This might be what they needed. And so he phoned work and told them that there was a family emergency and possibly some news about his sister. The result was a positive eagerness to give him a day off; they had been quite lenient to him ever since disaster had struck. After that call had been made, he turned the car and hit the gas.

It was a minor miracle he made it to the rendezvous point without having been fined for speeding, considering the speed he had driven at, but that was not what had been most on his mind during the journey. His heart had started to beat faster and he could feel excitement and hope in equal measures, each of them trying to gain dominance. Could it be? Could it really be?

Of course his father had beaten him here; he lived nearer by. The neighbourhood was a bit shabby looking, but not really in a state of disrepair that indicated that all decent people had moved out, abandoning it to the criminals and junkies. Yet. Nevertheless, his father's car stood out; far too up-market for this place. John Andrews himself was rather out of place as well in his suit and tie and shoes that had been polished until they shone. Jacko was wearing a suit as well, but next to his father he looked positively poorly clothed. But then, his father liked appearances. He was good at keeping them up as well.

'What do we have?' Jacko asked, foregoing the niceties, something his father didn't have the monopoly on.

'Jeremy Grey,' his father responded. 'Thirty-five years old, something of an artist. Apparently he spent the last few months painting in Italy. He only saw the latest appeal.'

Well, that hadn't been a complete waste of time then, he thought. 'But if he saw it happen, why didn't he tell it to the police right away?'

His father was frowning. 'Apparently he did, but they didn't take him seriously, and he left for Italy a week later. And the police didn't realise it was Kate he had seen until he kindly pointed that out to them.' If Jacko had not already believed the police a bunch of incompetent fools, he would have been converted to that belief after hearing this. Maybe that was not entirely fair to them, but they didn't have sisters that were missing for well over six months.

Jacko merely growled by way of a reaction. This could have been solved months ago, and instead the police had blundered around without any result to show for their apparent efforts. If their incompetence was what had gotten Kate killed, he swore to God he would make them pay for that mistake.

They rang the doorbell to Jeremy Grey's flat, and were met by the man himself approximately thirty seconds later. His father had said that he was something of an artist, an impression confirmed by the many marks of paint dotting his once-white shirt. He had a messy beard and even messier hair, and without having the excuse of having curly hair the two men on his doorstep had. In short, he didn't look like the kind of person one would easily label reliable witness.

'I'm John Andrews, and this is my son Jacko,' his father introduced them. 'I called?' he added when the name didn't immediately seem to ring a bell.

Realisation dawned on his face, along with something that looked remarkably like relief. 'Yes. Yes, of course. Please come in. Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Tea?'

'Information about my daughter would be most welcome,' his father said icily. There was impatience underneath, of the same kind that Jacko himself experienced. Even after all that he had done in the past months, Jacko had trouble realising this was really happening. He'd known too much of a father who wasn't interested, and to now find one who was very interested almost felt wrong.

The man smiled nervously. 'Of course,' he said again. He led the way to the sitting room and motioned them to please sit. Jacko had to get rid of a couple of sketchbooks to do that. The flat wasn't exactly a waste dump, but it wasn't neat and tidy either. The place was covered in paintings and drawings, most of which weren't even all that bad.

'Please talk,' his father invited. 'I have heard that you saw my daughter abducted?'

The artist nodded, seating himself in a chair on the other side of the coffee table. 'I think I did.' The nervousness increased in tenfold. 'But it is very strange, sir, very strange.'

'Could you for heaven's sake just tell us what you saw and leave the interpreting of the events to us?' Jacko asked. All of a sudden he found he had no patience left. He would probably need to apologise for that later.

'Of course.' Mr Grey took a deep breath. 'Well, I was on my way to a friend one afternoon. He lives not all that far off, so I decided to walk there.' Not all that unlikely; Kate hadn't lived all that far away from this place. 'I was just about three streets away when I saw your daughter – Kate, wasn't it? – standing by a bus stop. It looked like she was a bit impatient, or nervous, because she kept checking her watch and her mobile.' Yes, that sounded like Kate. She tended to do that when someone was late and she was extremely annoyed.

He took the photograph he had of Kate from the file his father had brought with him and then pushed it across the table. 'Is this her?'

Jeremy Grey nodded immediately. 'Yes.' He clearly didn't doubt that. 'That is her. I am certain of it.'

'So, what happened?' Jacko prompted.

'Well, I stopped to admire a piece of graffiti art on one of the walls,' the witness narrated. From anyone else this would have sounded like rubbish, but this man looked like the type to do exactly that. 'So I didn't look all the time to her. I turned when she cursed and threw a piece of paper on the ground.' Here he hesitated.

'Yes?' John Andrews urged.

'Well, this is where it becomes so strange, sir.' The nervousness turned to something that almost look like jumpiness. 'There was wind, but only at the bus stop. There wasn't wind anywhere else, but it looked like it was storming where she was. And then she just… vanished. There one second, gone the next.' He must have seen the absolutely disbelieving looks both father and son bestowed upon him, because he added: 'I am not crazy, I swear. I know what I saw! I am not doing drugs, and I haven't touched the alcohol for over two years.'

'Yet you expect us to believe that she was magicked away in broad daylight?' John Andrews's voice was dripping with scepticism. For once he spoke for Jacko as well. 'It looks like you have read too many Harry Potter novels, Mr Grey.'

That was it, probably. It was either that, or this man had a very twisted sense of humour that Jacko could not at all appreciate. His hope was sinking, rapidly flowing down the drain, leaving him feeling empty and disappointed, so very disappointed. The emotion was so fierce that he could feel it in his chest, a suffocating feeling that made it hard to breathe. There was anger as well, righteous fury at being so fooled.

'I am not making this up!' Jeremy Grey had jumped to his feet. For one who was making this up he was looking alarmingly sincere. But then, he was an artist. They were a strange lot, all of them. Small wonder why the police had not taken him seriously. No one in his right mind would.

Jacko didn't even realise he jumped up as well until he found himself grasping Mr Jeremy I-Think-I'm-So-Funny Grey by the collar. 'Do you maybe expect us to start believing in magic now? Or do you just take pleasure in toying with people's feelings in addition to your painting? You're despicable!'

To his utter humiliation there were tears burning behind his eyes, but he'd be damned if he was going to cry here in front of this man, and so he turned on his heels and left the flat, not even waiting for his father. His hands were shaking and no sooner was he on the street that a strangled howl left his throat. He normally wasn't one for showing emotion in public, but he found he could not possibly hold it back now. This hurt too much. Maybe he could have dealt with this if they had never heard of Mr Grey's existence, if this just slowly faded and he could accept the knowledge that there was never going to be more information about Kate's fate. But this, this was too sudden. The blow was too heavy and far too much to bear.

He didn't even fully register when someone hauled him into an embrace and let him cry on their shoulder, let him cry like he hadn't cried since he was a little boy. Jacko only realised that his father was holding him when he heard the whispered 'I'm so sorry, son' over and over again. It took him another few seconds to realise that he was not the only one crying.

'Sorry for what?' he demanded. His voice was not as sharp as he would have liked it to be, partly because his voice was muffled against a jacket and also because no one could really sound angry when they were crying. 'Sorry that the witness turned out to be useless?'

'That too,' was the answer. 'I'm sorry I left.'

Jacko snorted. The result was again undermined by holding on to his dad as if he was the only thing that kept him from drowning in his emotions. 'What made you?'

'Your sister.' No surprise there. 'She once accused me of being a coward. It turned out that she was right.'

'You only reached that conclusion now, did you?' He tried to wriggle out of the embrace, but his father had clearly no intention of letting go.

'After long and hard thinking. I am just sorry I never…' Jacko could hear him take a deep breath. 'I'm just sorry I never got round to telling it to Kate.'

'It was realising she had cut you out of her life,' Jacko realised, remembering the expression on his face when Jacko had told him they had phoned every single one of Kate's contacts and he wasn't one of them.

It was telling that this didn't get a denial. 'It was.'

Jacko swallowed. Maybe he should be mad that it had needed to come to this before his father grew himself a brain, when it was too little and too late. Because Kate was gone now. If he hadn't believed that before, the fact that this was the first physical contact he had with his father for well over a decade told him that. And it made the tears stream down his face all over again. This time, he couldn't even care. He mourned. Standing on the pavement of a cold and empty street, holding onto his dad for dear life, Jacko Andrews mourned.

'Why did you try to leave?' He had been meaning to ask what the "disagreement" had been about and he was a little surprised to hear what had actually come out. It unnerved him. Why did he feel so strongly about this?

'Would you not were you in my shoes?' she countered. 'I miss home, I miss my family.' She held on to her legs so tightly her knuckles turned white. 'They might even believe me dead by now. And I am not even capable of letting them know that I am still alive.' The anger had turned to distress in a matter of seconds. 'What if…' She hesitated for a second. 'What if I return and there is nothing for me to go back to because they already believe me gone?' It came out in a whisper.

The Journal, Chapter 29: Schemes

There will be a second part to this, but that won't be until the whole matter has been dealt with in The Journal timeline. In the meantime I still take requests and I really to know what you all think. What did you like, what did you dislike? Please review?