25th November 2019
Morning
Dad was still in bed after I had showered, and assuming he hadn’t slept properly in a decade, I didn’t disturb him. I took a little comfort in knowing he had slept deeply; it compensated for my tentative slumber whilst perched on the narrow seat in my old room’s bay window. He lay motionless, still tucked in from the night before, my kiss still upon his head.
Downstairs, I put out a bowl and some cereal for Dad for when he woke, wrote a note telling him I would be back later – saying maybe we could watch a film together – and left. Closing the front door quietly behind me, I shivered. Last night had been a cold one, so cold frost glistened off the front lawn, and the windscreen of the hire car parked on the road looked like it was made of a sheet of white plastic. I didn’t have an ice scraper, so using my maxed-out credit card from the car hire deposit I’d likely lose, I went to work on clearing the glass, without any gloves. My hands burned by the time I climbed behind the steering wheel and fired up the engine.
After a tough, careful drive, I found the station that looked more like a community centre than an institute designed to protect the public. I stepped inside and was met by a gloomy officer at the front desk.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Hello, yes, I need to talk to someone about, umm, an incident yesterday?’ I said, noticing that the officer looked young – too young to be wearing a uniform, in my opinion. His narrow shoulders were lost under his shirt which hung over him like a tent. The tie around his neck was almost as wide as his frame. I almost asked if he was on work experience but stopped myself. I had a habit of saying the wrong things.
‘I see, can I ask what incident?’ he said, whilst scratching the fluff on his chin that resembled something like a beard. He tried to appear interested, despite his voice sounding flat.
‘Yes, it’s about that top they found, over near the mine. The one with blood on it.’
‘I see,’ he repeated, although this time the boredom in his voice was gone. ‘Please take a seat, someone will be out shortly.’
Before I could respond, he upped and left through a set of doors directly behind him, unable to hide his excitement, and a few moments later, an older officer stepped through. Heavy steps, a tired face.
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning,’ I replied; it was the same voice I had spoken to on the phone. Hastings. I offered my hand, which he shook, although I could see he wasn’t keen.
‘You have some information,’ he said, a statement more than a question.
‘Yes, I called yesterday.’
‘Would you like to follow me, Ms—?’
‘I’m Neve Chambers,’ I said.
He turned and walked through the double doors and I followed closely behind, the younger officer holding the door open for me. I was expecting to see a cell or something on the other side, but there was a small kitchen area, an office and some toilets. He led me into the office and offered a chair in front of a desk. Again, watching police programmes, I expected paperwork to be everywhere. Perhaps a whiteboard on a wall, covered in words and pictures of suspects. The desk was tidy: one laptop, a stack of Post-its and a Harlan Coben book, open and face down so he didn’t lose his page.
‘What would you like to tell me?’ he asked, sitting down in his chair, which squeaked angrily under his weight.
‘Do I need a pen or something to write it all down?’
‘Let’s talk first, shall we?’
‘Sorry, yes. I was one of the people who found that top yesterday whilst looking for Jamie.’
‘Go on.’
‘Do you know if it’s definitely his blood?’
‘It’s being investigated. Please, continue, Ms Chambers.’
‘I don’t know if you remember, a long time ago a girl went miss—’
‘Chloe Lambert,’ he interrupted. ‘I remember.’
‘Yes, Chloe.’
‘You were one of her friends.’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘And you’re here to tell me again about the man you called the Drifter?’ He paused, allowing a moment for the name to register with me. ‘I was a lot younger back then, but yes, you told me all about the shadowy man who you and your friends saw hanging around the mine. A man who we never found, who no one else ever saw, despite the village being so small.’
‘I know what I saw back then,’ I said quietly.
‘Maybe.’ He paused again, eyeing me, and I remembered him, I remember him eyeing me the same way when I was young.
‘PC Hastings—’ I knew I needed to take a different tack; Hastings didn’t like me, he hadn’t liked any of us when we were young. ‘I remember you now and, oh, what was his name. Your boss.’
‘DCI Thompson.’
‘Yes, Thompson. I remember how much you did when trying to find Chloe, it meant a lot to everyone. How is he?’
‘Retired.’
‘Well, it has been a long time.’
‘Your Drifter haunted him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He didn’t stop looking for that person until the day he left the force. He was never the same after that case. He couldn’t let go.’
‘Could anyone?’ I asked with all sincerity.
‘No, I guess not,’ he replied, kissing his teeth, and again he looked at me in a way which was unnerving. ‘The Drifter seems to live forever,’ he added in an accusatory way. The small talk was over.
‘I know what I saw, PC Hastings,’ I repeated.
‘But he was never found. We searched and searched, but he was like smoke. Don’t get me wrong, I was desperate to find him, we all were, because we wanted closure. But he wasn’t found, was he, and nor was Chloe.’
‘I…’
‘Ms Chambers, we spent a long time – long after the papers stopped talking about it – chasing your ghost. And since then, the Drifter has never even been mentioned, not outside the usual chats in the local pubs.’
‘I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw.’
‘Do you?’ he said. He knew something, and I felt my heart rate jump.
‘What about the top? The fact that it’s so similar to what happened with Chloe. Don’t you think there could be a link?’
He looked at me for a moment, and I couldn’t work out what he was thinking, but it felt like I was a person of interest to him, rather than a witness. He seemed to ponder his next move and then sighed.
‘Jamie Hardman is an unwell person. He has a history of self-harm, and of disappearing. He is a well-loved man here. We are taking this incident seriously. But we all know Jamie, Ms Chambers. This is nothing more than what it presents itself to be: an unwell man calling for help.’
‘But the top, don’t you agree—’
‘Jamie has always struggled with what happened when you were all young. Everyone knows that. He has never spoken of that summer and how losing his friend affected him. He is calling to us to help him. He’s ready to heal.’
What he said echoed what had been said in the pub the night before. Maybe I had been seeing things.
‘Ms Chambers, I have a small force here, I cannot afford the time or manpower chasing someone you only think you saw.’
‘I saw him.’
‘In the same way you saw the roof of that club fall down?’ he asked, enjoying himself. ‘I’ve read up on you, I know about why you had to leave university. A brief psychotic episode, I think, is the technical term. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ I said quietly, thinking of that night. It was just another evening out, nothing to suggest I was about to have an episode. We drank, laughed, flirted with boys, and just after midnight, I saw a crack form in the ceiling. It spread in all directions, just before it caved in. I was sure I was going to die. Esther held me, shielded my eyes until help arrived. They said it was stress, exam pressure. But I knew it wasn’t. It was Chloe.
‘Seems you have a history of seeing things that aren’t really happening. I don’t have time for ghosts. I just want to find that boy. If you want to help…’
‘Yes, yes I do.’
‘I don’t mean this disrespectfully – but if you want to help, you’ll not talk about the Drifter. People are superstitious, and I don’t want scaremongering to ruin our search.’
‘But…’
‘Back when Chloe went missing, it ended up being a circus. I’d like to avoid that.’
‘I understand,’ I said, defeated.
‘Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do,’ he said, dismissing me.
In shock I stood and backed out of his office. Passing through the double doors, the younger officer said something, but I didn’t hear. I left the station, climbed into my car and burst into tears. Everyone thought Jamie had just left. It seemed to be the logical explanation to this, but I couldn’t shake the feeling in my gut telling me otherwise. I know what I saw back then. I know what I have seen since coming back. The Drifter wasn’t a ghost or a figment of my imagination. He was real. He had done something to Jamie, and he had left his bloodstained top to make sure we were listening. I wanted to be wrong, I almost begged it to be me losing my sense of reality again, but I knew he was back.