24th November 2019
Night
As a group, we decided that if anyone from the local papers asked questions about Jamie’s disappearance and the similarities to Chloe’s, we were going to talk about how Jamie needs our help, and nothing more. We also agreed I should call the police, tell them what I’d seen, just in case. So, before leaving the pub, I stepped away from the others and called the local police station. I told them about the figure I saw up high on the bank, just moments before Jamie’s top was found. I had expected them to want to speak to me right away, I’d mentally prepared for them to invite me to the station. But the policeman I spoke with – someone called Hastings – said that I should come down and make a statement in the morning. It felt like before, like when I was a kid; the police weren’t taking me seriously.
We finished our drinks and said our farewells. Georgia had warmed a little to me and although she didn’t apologise for her outburst, she smiled as she said goodbye. The walk home felt longer than it had the previous few trips to and from the village. The night darker and with each turn of a corner, each bend in the road, I expected to see the shape of the Drifter. As I passed Chloe’s house, Brenda was smoking from Chloe’s bedroom.
‘Cold one tonight,’ she said. I pretended I’d not heard her. When I got back Dad wasn’t in his chair and I saw from the kitchen the back door was closed. Quietly I moved upstairs to see if he was there and to my surprise and delight, I could see the shape of him on his bed, asleep. Walking into his room, a space I rarely stepped foot in, even as a kid, I lifted the covers and tucked him in. I kissed him on the head and whispered that I loved him. Twice in one night, twice more than in twenty years and despite him being asleep, I waited a moment for him to whisper it back. But of course, he didn’t.
I went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea and saw Dad had left a note.
Thanks for the sandwich. Dad.
Despite it all, I caught myself smiling.
When I went to my room and reached to draw the curtains, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Movement from the opposite side of the street, close to a row of garages. At first, I dismissed it, but as I looked again, I had to cover my hand with my mouth to stop myself from screaming. A man walked out from that dark space. He was wearing the same long black coat, the same heavy boots from back then. I couldn’t see his face, it was hidden under the hood of the coat, but I knew he was looking directly at me. Turning, I grabbed my phone from the bed to ring the police, and by the time I was back at the window, he was gone.
I looked down the road and couldn’t see anything. I looked the other way, nothing. It was like the air hadn’t been disturbed, like he was never there. It was like the ceiling was falling in again. My finger hovered over the keypad, and I hesitated. If I called the police, what would I say? I’ve just seen a man outside my dad’s house, but he vanished, and I’m not sure if he was real or just my imagination.
Instead of dialling, I logged into Facebook and began to type a message to Holly; it took several attempts as I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. Eventually, I managed to send it.
Checking once more, the night was quiet, and not knowing what else to do, I sat on the edge of the bed, and waited for daylight.