Part Two: 13

                                    

                                          
He roused from the only chair in the dark room to answer the repeated rap at the door. A shirt was lying deflated on the bed, he picked it up and slung it over. The rusty hinges creaked and groaned as he opened to find someone he wasn’t expecting. One might argue that he, considering what he knew and witnessed, would expect this sort of visit. A fat man in a blue polo shirt tucked in a grey velvet trouser suspended by a leather belt whose fastening found obscurity in the shadow of his rotund protruded belly stood at the door. The man grinned.
                          
“Good evening Sir.” Andy said, rolling down his left sleeve in an attempt to cover something that seem to have caught the man’s attention momentarily. He might have imagined it, but he covered the tattoo just like he always had.
                          
“Good evening.” The man said in a louder cheerier voice that would make any sane person wonder if he was an old friend visiting for an evening chat, or the chief security officer who had just knocked insistently on his door at 9pm. Nothing about how Andy felt about the meeting says a tete-a-tete chat over the menace of global warming or how disappointing Chelsea FC performed this season. Every second the man spent at his doorstep augur bad news.
                          
He took the man’s extended hand and for a moment felt speechless. “would you like to come in?” he offered though not very eagerly. His room was a mess to begin with, not to mention the recent curious changes no sane mind might doubtlessly abide.
                          
“don’t bother.” Said the man like his mind was already made up about the nature of this unsolicited meeting despite his smile. “I came to ask a few questions in regards to what happened today.”
                          
“I’ve answered two security officers that first arrived at the scene, and three after that.” Before the man began his reply, Andy realised from his smile and the steady, calm, calculating elder statesman demeanour, that this particular visitor doesn’t care about how much time he’s been grilled that night.
                          
“I know, I know. But I just want us to get through the details together again.”  
                          
Andy stepped out and closed the screen door behind him. He motioned to a bench at the veranda. The man obliged.
                          
“so you heard a scream?” he asked after a few preliminary questions about what he was doing at the greenhouse then and at what time he began his work, and if he had any alibi. Mr John wasn’t sugar coating anything, Andy couldn’t tell how exactly he should feel about that. 
                          
“Yes,” he looked at the gleaming tricky eyes of the man despite the fact that he detested the fake smile on his face. “I heard a scream.” He has learnt in previous interrogation to keep his answers as perfunctory as possible. These people have their question, it’s a waste to give them more details that only breeds more question to their endless lists. As if this whole questioning and re-questioning would help matters.
                          
“and?”
                          
“when I got to the building, the screaming had stopped.”
                          
“you climbed up the stairs?”
                          
“and found Pa Jacob on the floor_”
                          
“that was when you call the ambulance.”
                          
There was silence, in which Andy hoped they’ve reached the end. It pleased him somewhat, watching the smile on the man’s face drop a notch, but he also pitied the man, he was doing his job after all. He was doing his job same way it was done in 1997 (when Badmus Kenny and Tobi Mascot went missing, Badmus Kenny died); in 2004 (when Tobi Mascot and John Dike drowned, Tobi Mascot died); and in 2009 (when John Dike and Anthony Lawrence went missing, John Dike jumped to his death after he was on the fast track to the nuthouse).
                          
Each time this happened (two students go missing, then in the end one is found dead, the other alive) people like Mr John rallied search parties, with dogs and sirens. In the end the lost turn up on their own, the one that went missing years before ends up being the one who dies. There is a pattern there that no one sees. Maybe no one cares. Maybe no one remembers.
                          
Just when it seems like the man had run out of things to say he said. “I’d like you to stay around till this all clears up. I hope that’s fine.”
                          
Andy shrugged, “I work and live here. it’s fine.”
                          
Mr John extended a large meaty hand, with a reignited smile. He then said in a light offhanded tone, “That’s good considering the system came up with two identities when you were entered. Hard to know who is who these days, don’t you agree?”
                          
Andy’s jaw tensed. He hated how startled he was, worse, the smug pose of the huge man. But he managed a non-comital shrug. “you said it’s in the system,” he slowly said, “it must have been legal. You’d agree.” The man really did his homework, he’ll give him that, but not the satisfaction of knowing this news might ruin things.
                          
“funny, the things the country we live in allows.”
                          
“we are all entitled to our opinion. I guess.” 
                          
Andy exchanged a cold handshake with him, and watch him leave. Mr John entered the car parked out front and drove away. He entered the candle lit room and looked back at the floor behind. He reached for a desk (where a compass twirled restlessly) and dipped his hand into a bag from which he brought out a handful of ash and lined it perfectly straight behind the door.
                          
The fact that someone knows about the two sides of his history didn’t bother him as much as the call of the darkness he was increasingly powerless to resist, something in the dimming lights of candles, the sudden surge in the air...
                          
*****
                          
He rocked the glass cup lazily and watched Devil Spring swirl clear and crystal, he raised it half way up and dropped it. It was midnight, and if there’s hope for this particular legal and administrative quagmire he was in, Principal Charles couldn’t see it yet. He received three mean calls from parents, had pissed off news agents, and had scolded at least seven of the staff members, and still counting. Seems like most of what he had done in regards to damage control was yell and make a fist like he’s doing in his office, this time he slammed a dossier and swore.
                          
But, what was he supposed to do when actual Halloween came knocking? This time not kids in silly masks doing trick or treating, its chaos itself, chaos in the way of two missing students and the dead body of a diligent staff member.
                          
Never in his life had he felt such a twist in the turn of events.
                          
“I’d have your hide if you don’t find my daughter.” Lisa’s Father had threatened, after taking ample time to introduce himself and elucidate how important and connected he is in echelon of the government. “where were you and your staff members? Where were you all…”
                          
Lisa’s mother had called from her own end too, none of it was pretty. Anthony’s father, Barrister Thomas Lawrence, had called too. Then visited his office that night. He has been a bit reasonable with his words, but did leave with, “I need my son, alive, in the next twenty-four hours, you must find him. If he had run away with that girl, wherever he is, I don’t care, you must find him. You people were supposed to keep him safe. It’s what we paid for.” The man’s influence had invited the state commissioner of police to the school that same night, He and Principal Charles had a long talk about the search, rescue plan and subsidiary security details. His men had joined the search and were interviewing staff members and students.
                          
He slammed his hand on the desk and picked his phone. He called chief security officer of the manor. “anything yet?”
                          
“Nothing Sir.” Mr John replied from his end, “my me are still searching and interrogating_”
                          
“then search harder,” he was on the verge of yelling when he felt a yank of restraint, “they must be found tonight. I believe I can count on you.”
                          
“we’ll do our best Sir.”
                          
He slouched on the executive chair turned once and knocked the glass off the table. He felt weirdly satisfied by how it crashed landed splintering in every direction. It felt like something he’d do again, to keep sane.