Rana was genuinely concerned now. The kid wasn’t making any sense. She wondered if he had concussion. Perhaps he had been in the accident at the bridge and wandered away.
“Maybe we should call the police.”
“No! I have to stay hidden.” The boy gripped Rana’s hand tighter.
“Why? Is someone after you?”
“Yes! That’s it! That’s why I ran away.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” The old woman leaned over and pulled the boy’s collar tighter. “So, what are you running from?”
“I’m too scared to think about it.” Tears welled up in his wide eyes. “I know it was something evil.”
Rana felt a rash of goosebumps spread across her arms. The boy reached up and softly touched the old woman’s cheek. There was a strange smell on his palm, a little like burnt matches, Rana thought.
“We need to inform the authorities about you, darling.”
“No!” Stark terror flashed across the child’s face. “Anything but that!” He backed away, shaking his head.
“You have to help me, Rana.”
Then he was off, vaulting the stone dyke and heading for the Ethylene plant. Baba Rana lifted an arm in protest, then dropped it again. She watched the boy grow smaller until he vanished behind the storage shed.
Her face was freezing where he had touched it, as was the hand he had been holding.
The old woman looked down at her cold wrinkled palm and gave a start.
It was covered in blood.
-13-
Bobby and Gordon sat side by side at the computer, trying to come up with a plan.
“I wish we had Creamola Foam,” his father grunted. “Raspberry flavour’s my fave. And some sweet and sour crisps.”
“I don’t think you can buy them anymore. They were too full of chemicals.”
“Seems like everything good is gone from this world,” Gordon huffed, sounding just like his old self. This time Bobby wasn’t fooled.
“Listen, we can’t just hope your memory will come back.” The teenager glanced at a calendar on the wall. “People are going to start wondering why you’re not around.”
“Then we need to figure out why it vanished in the first place,” Gordon said decisively. “Maybe we should go to Dundee.”
“How’s that going to help?”
“The only thing I remember, apart from my name, is that I come from Dundee. We should go there.”
“Yeah, well its fifty miles and we’d have to walk, ‘cause we only have some grocery money left. Unless you can remember the PIN number for your bank account.”
“My what number?”
“Exactly.”
Bobby thought for a minute while Gordon amused himself by making horse noises out the side of his mouth.
“Tell you what, let’s check the internet!” he said. “We can look up… eh… what’s that word when you can’t remember things?”
“Stupid?”
“Amnesia.” Bobby entered the Google search engine, punched in the word and a thousand web listings came up. They contained terms like Korsakoff Syndrome, Anterograde, Retrograde and Hysterical Amnesia, short term memory loss and dissociative disorders.
“Man!” His father gave a whistle. “There’s a lot of forgetful people in this world.”
“Do you remember how to get dressed?”
Gordon glanced down at his skimpy attire.
“What’s the point, if I’m not allowed to go out?”
“You want to be sitting in your underpants when Mrs Smith from the Boarding Kennels comes round to borrow a cup of sugar?”
“I’ll get my kit on.” Gordon leaped to his feet and rushed upstairs.
When he came down he was wearing the outfit Bobby always associated with his father - a plain black T-Shirt, black jeans and engineer boots. Unlike normal, however, Gordon’s thinning hair was gelled up like a hedge.
“Best I could do.” he said dismissively. “Don’t seem to have as much up top as I used to.”
“Fugue State.” Bobby triumphantly tapped the computer screen.
“What’s that then? Is it in America?”
“It’s a type of memory loss. Found it on the web.” On the desk a printer hummed, churning out pages. The teenager picked up a sheet and read what it said.
“A Fugue State is a type of Amnesia characterized by an inability to recall some or all of one's past. This is accompanied by confusion about personal identity, or even the assumption of a new identity. The sufferer often has a desire to travel to some other location, with no clear reason why.”
“Like Dundee?”
“Why else would anyone want to go to Dundee?”
“Ok, that sounds about right.” Gordon sat down beside his son. Bobby ran a finger down his father’s stubbled jaw.
“Are you going to shave?
“Never done it before. Put on some cologne though.”
“I noticed. You could stun an elephant at three hundred yards.”
“That’s in case Mrs Smith from the Boarding Kennels comes round,” Gordon grinned. “So what do we do to fix this? Hit me on the head with a cricket bat?”
“I’m tempted. But, according to this web site, the memory of people in Fugue States usually comes back itself.”
“Cool!” His father slapped the teenager’s knee. “How long does it take?”
“I haven’t read it all yet.” Bobby studied the printed pages. “Here we go. Anything from a matter of hours to… eh… several years.”
“Ach, it’ll be a couple of hours, I bet.” Gordon seemed completely undaunted. “I already remembered that my boots were kept in the hall cupboard.”
“Dad. You put them there last night.” Bobby got up and fetched his coat.
“Oh… yeah. Hey, where are you going?”
“To get the shopping,” the boy said haughtily, pulling up his hood. “Some of us have responsibilities, you know.”
-14-
Bobby bumped into Mary Mooney on the lane connecting their houses.
“I was just coming to see you,” she said.
“Wow. Same here. You must be psychic.”
“I am, and you can stop being sarcastic about it.” Mary noticed the dark rings under her friend’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Bobby frowned. He was a practical boy and Mary’s belief in stupid stuff like astrology and the spirit world irritated him. He certainly didn’t like it when she guessed things correctly.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“You came back in a taxi last night. Where’s your dad’s car?”
“Chum me to the shop?” Bobby stalled while he tried to think of the best way to start his incredible story. “I got something to tell you, but…. I don’t know if you’re going to believe it.”
“Oh, I probably will.” Mary gave him a bright smile.
Bobby accepted this. He often wondered about her ability to remain unflaggingly cheerful. She was a skinny girl and her lank, blonde hair framed a thin face and eyes that were too deep set to be attractive. And the Mooneys didn’t have much money, so Mary’s clothes were always scruffy and out of date. Even her name was plain.
Despite this, the girl retained an unshakeable good humour that Bobby found exasperating. They probably wouldn’t be friends if he had anyone else to hang out with, though he’d never admit it to her.
But, right now, Mary’s positive attitude was exactly what he needed.
They walked down the silent country lane, lined on either side by dry stone dykes and prickly gorse. In the distance a line of oaks scratched the sky with wintry fingers. After a while Bobby began talking and Mary listened without interruption. They reached the end of the lane and the end of his story at the same time. Bobby went in and bought groceries while Mary sat on the wall outside, swinging her legs and thinking.
He came out carrying a bulging carrier bag and sat beside her.
“So this thing with your dad is really genuine? I mean, straight up
?”
“Why would I lie about it?”
“Then I believe you.” Mary didn’t mention that her omen from the night before had helped convince her. Bobby would only scoff. She folded her arms and regarded her friend.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.”
There was a beeping sound in Bobby’s pocket. He pulled out his mobile and glanced at the display.
“It’s my dad.” He punched receive and held the phone to his ear.
Mary could hear Gordon’s voice buzzing faintly at the other end. She couldn’t make out the words but he sounded very animated. Bobby listened, his brow furrowing.
“I’ll be right there.” He shut the phone. “Sorry. I have to go home.”
“What’s happened?”
“I left my dad playing with the computer.”
“Let me guess. He tried to feed cheese to the mouse.”
“No. He obviously picks things up fast,” the boy replied tersely.
“He got onto Google and found Dodd Pollen.”
-15-
Bobby discovered his father in the kitchen, head in the fridge.
“God, I need a drink,” the man mumbled from the frosty interior.
“Don’t you think this is a bit early?” Bobby retorted before he could stop himself. “Even for you?”
“What are you talking about? I only want a glass of milk.” There was a loud clinking as his father rummaged around. “There’s nothing in here but bottles of wine and packets of Dairy Lea Lunchables, whatever they are.”
“You used to be quite….eh, fond of wine.”
“I did? Should I try some?”
“Absolutely not,” Bobby quickly handed over his groceries. “I got milk from the shop.”
“Heh, heh. The carton’s got spots like a cow.” Gordon shut the fridge door and twisted off the stopper. “And you can get the milk out without a degree in Physics.”
He took a long swig.
“You know, I’m starting to quite like the 21st century.”
“Dad!”
“Oh yeah.” Gordon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You need to check out what I found on this internet thingy. I nearly peed myself when I saw it.”
He trotted through to the computer and scrolled down a page of entries.
“Here. This is an article in the Dundee Courier, dated January 1979.”
Bobby leaned over and read the screen. It wasn’t a large article, only a sixteenth of a page but his jaw dropped when he read it.
Police Give up Search for Missing Boy
Angus Police today announced that they had called off the hunt for lost teenager, Gordon ‘Dodd’ Pollen, who was reported missing five days ago. The fifteen year old left his home in Strathmarten Road in Dundee on the 5th of January after a family argument. According to social workers and teachers, Gordon Pollen was a ‘troubled and rebellious boy’ who had a history of violence and was often in trouble with the police. Eyewitnesses claim that a youth fitting Pollen’s description was spotted crossing Magdalene Green at around 6.30pm that night, not far from Dundee Rail Station. One was certain that the boy was reading a train timetable. The police suspect that, like many runaways, he was intending to take the express to London.
Below the article was a small photograph of a sullen teenager with a sharp face and brown wavy hair.
“That’s it. That’s all I could find.”
Bobby studied the photograph.
“Is that you?”
Bobby’s father turned to face him. “Dunno. What do you think?”
Gordon Berlin had a bull neck and thinning hair, but his lips were thin like the boy in the picture and the eyes looked vaguely similar.
“I can’t tell.” Bobby squinted at the image. “The photo’s thirty years old and blurry. I suppose it could be you, but that doesn’t make sense”
A thought suddenly occurred to him.
“You’ve got a whole file of photographs scanned onto the computer. Why don’t we compare them?”
“I tried, but there’s no pictures of me as a kid.” Gordon opened his photograph folder with a few taps on the keys.
“You’re picking up this computer stuff fast.”
“I’m a natural at technology. You should see me fix a Chopper Bike.” His father enlarged one of the pictures. “This one looks like the earliest photo, but I must be in my twenties.”
The screen showed a surly young man, wearing a biker jacket and leaning against a wall.
“Can’t believe I had a purple streak in my hair. I was pretty cool, eh?”
“If you say so.” Bobby could see a vague similarity between the man in the picture and the newspaper photograph, but he was far from sure they were the same person.
“This is dumb. You can’t really be someone called Dodd Pollen. I bet you’ve got a passport and everything.”
“Well, I must have a mum and dad.” Bobby’s father clicked the file closed. “Why don’t we just ask them?”
“Your parents? They did live in Dundee, but they’ve been dead for…” Bobby stopped in mid-sentence. “Sorry. You… wouldn’t remember.”
Gordon seemed more put out than upset.
“Is there anybody in my bloody family left alive?” he snorted. “Apart from you, that is.”
“No there isn’t.” Bobby’s eyes welled up at his father’s insensitivity. “I wish there were.”
“Sorry pal.” Gordon looked ashamed. “I mean, sorry son. I suppose forgetting is a good thing sometimes.”
“You never talked to gran and granddad Berlin much anyway.”
“Yeah, well I doubt they adopted a teenage runaway and changed his name without anyone getting suspicious. Anyhow the police seemed to think this Dodd Pollen was heading away from Dundee. Getting a train to London.”
“Maybe you changed your mind.”
“Maybe I’m not Dodd Pollen.” His father sounded doubtful but Bobby mentally crossed his fingers. He certainly hoped not. But he had more pressing concerns right now. He bit his lip and took the plunge.
“Dad, I think it’s time we called the police. We can’t work this out ourselves.”
“No,” his father replied quickly. “I got issues with authority. That’s one thing I am sure of, even if I don’t know why.”
“You might be ill,” Bobby persisted. “You might get worse.”
“No way.” Gordon jutted out his jaw, as he always did when his mind was made up. But his son couldn’t let it go.
“You might need a doctor or something.”
“Just leave it Bobby. We can do this ourselves.”
“What if we called some of your friends?” Bobby held up his father’s mobile. “Their numbers must be on here!”
“Just give me time to think, will you!”
“Look. Here’s Doctor Lambert’s number. I could call him and ask…”
“I said NO!” Gordon slammed a beefy hand on the computer desk. The glass of milk leapt into the air in an arc of white as he spun round, his clenched fist inches from his son’s face. Bobby shrank away, his mouth open.
His father’s whole demeanour seemed to have changed. His shoulders were hunched almost up to his ears and his thick neck was flushed an angry hue. He grabbed the boy by the collar and leaned in close.
“Leave me ALONE!”
Bobby tore himself away, clutching at his throat.
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Gordon threw up his hands in horror. Bobby retreated a few paces, eyes wide.
“No really! I’m sorry pal! Don’t know what happened there! I guess I’m feeling a bit… eh… tense.” Gordon turned back to the computer, as if ignoring the outburst would make everything all right. “Look. Just let it go. OK?”
“OK dad,” Bobby murmured, his heart thundering.
But a part of the newspaper article he had just read flashed into his mind.
Dodd Pollen was a troubled and rebellious boy who had a history of violence.
-16-
There was no small talk. Every expression was bleak.
“We’ve gathered all of the board we can reach.” A tall, grey haired man in a razor sharp black suit sat at the head of the table, hands clasped in front of him. “We haven’t time to chase the rest down.”
“What seems to be the problem?” On one of the screens an overweight woman in a lavender top lit a cigarette and was obscured for a few seconds by a grey haze.
“There has been no communication with drilling platform 579 in the Norway Sea for four hours, Madam Chairwoman, so we sent a helicopter to investigate.”
“And?”
“The platform is no longer there.”
“Oh?” Surprise flashed across the woman’s face, but she recovered her composure quickly. “Where exactly has it gone?”
“That’s the problem.” The man with the grey hair, scratched his lip. “It’s a floating rig but it’s securely moored. It can’t have gone anywhere.”
“Which is obviously debatable.” The woman gave him a withering look. “Since it’s not where it’s supposed to be.”
“Ok. Even if it drifted, it’s five hundred feet across and weighs thousands of tons. It could only have moved a short distance and then the chopper would have spotted it.”
“And the rig would have radioed their position if the moorings broke,” another executive broke in.
“Are you telling me it sank?” The Chairwoman turned on him.
“There’s no debris, Ma’am. Besides, it’s unsinkable.”
“That’s what they said about the Titanic.” The woman took another drag on her cigarette. “Were there adverse weather conditions?”
“There isn’t a hint of a storm. Been that way for hours. But we are getting unconfirmed reports of other craft vanishing in the North Sea.”
“My God.” A young man with a thick black fringe tugged at his tie. “We’ve got our very own Bermuda Triangle.”
“Less of that,” The Chairwoman snapped. “Are we talking sabotage? Industrial espionage?”
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