Ten Missing Children

by Antony J Woodward

  Under the brown gown she was wearing a teal dress with a large Celtic belt around her middle.

  “Shall we have a cup of tea Terry?” she enquired warmly.

  Terry had never met the woman in his life, nor had he introduced himself. How did she know his name? And why was she shutting up shop to have tea with him?

  “Lemon tea, it’ll help with the hangover…” she smiled and beckoned him to follow her.

  As Terry followed her, his curiosity whetted, he wondered whether his hangover was evident. Did he look rough? His ponytail was messy sure, but he’d dressed somewhat nicely in a hooded shirt and jeans. He’d attempted an effort when he really didn’t have any to afford. Perhaps it was the eyes? They seemed stained red from tears. Or was that just his personal insight?

  He followed her through a bead curtain to a large table. This would be her reading room.

  They didn’t stay there, they turned left and entered a small kitchen. To his left was a little bathroom and to his right was a little patio. It was quite a strange building, almost like it had been converted from a residential house. He’d not paid much attention to the local geography, perhaps it was…?

  Terry took a seat at the modest kitchen table.

  “OOH, new blood…” A young male with long hair waltzed into the room.

  The woman didn’t even turn away from the kettle, she looked over her shoulder at the male. “Get out,” she told him.

  “What? Can’t I stay? He’s cute… I’d love to know what’s going off with those tattoos, maybe they go all the way to-”

  “I can hear you,” Terry gave him a stony look.

  He balked and turned an interesting shade of red.

  “You’re a… oh shit…” he realised his grave mistake. He’d wrongly assumed Terry was an ordinary bloke.

  “Go, you’re embarrassing yourself…” the woman commanded.

  The young male who was a little effeminate hesitated, was he going to apologise?

  No. He disappeared back out of the kitchen.

  “Sorry about that. If ever there was a need for an exorcism, a horny little toad like that might just be it…” the woman joked.

  Terry smiled, it felt sincere. That was nice in itself.

  “I’m Magda,” she introduced herself. She extended a cup of hot lemon tea.

  “Two sugars, just the way you like lemon tea…”

  Terry was impressed. This fellow medium certainly had her sources.

  “How do you know of me?”

  “I sensed you, felt you was lost. I’m not going to say some contrived bullshit about destiny bringing you here, because me and you know that’s not how things work…” she was easy to talk. Her voice was soft but of the earth, she had no pretences. Here was a woman who told you as it was. A spade was a spade.

  Terry was guilty of calling a spade a shovel if situation required it.

  “I know you’re lost. Desperate. I can see it all over you,”

  “Thanks… I put it on fresh this morning,” his sarcastic joke made her smile a little.

  “You shine so bright Terry, you’re like a lighthouse. A beacon!”

  Maybe that explained why he attracted so many spirits. He was a lighthouse in the thick fog of limbo.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “What?” His response was a knee-jerk reaction. What wasn’t his fault? What did she actually know about him?

  “The little girl…”

  She might as well have slid a sword between his ribs, that’s certainly what it felt like.

  He sagged.

  “It’s really not your fault kid,”

  “How do I catch him?” The pain and desperation was thick in his voice.

  “I don’t know. I wish I had a crystal ball…” she sighed. She actually did have a crystal ball, it was on the middle of the table in the reading room. But both she and Terry knew they were useless. They were a ball of glass, they had no magical divining qualities.

  “I need to find him… I need to find her…” Terry stressed, he wasn’t particularly aiming at her. He was just finally giving voice to the knots of pain tangled around his heart.

  “And you will. I’m sure of it…”

  “But what if I’m too late?”

  “…Sometimes our ‘late’ is God’s dead-on-time…”

  It wasn’t exactly wisdom he wanted to hear.

  “Terry, you need to stop beating yourself up. You need to bring peace to all those families and you can’t do that while you’re chewing your own ass…”

  “But I’m stuck, I have nothing to go on…!” he cried.

  “…You ever heard of astral projection? The ability to walk while dreaming…”

  Terry nodded. Who hadn’t.

  “Maybe that’s what you need to do? Remember you can enter other people’s dreams. Maybe if you found the right dream you could learn something new…?”

  “You mean the families. Maybe they’ve forgotten something…” Now that was useful advice. He’d never dabbled in astral projection, it always struck him as wishy-washy. But he was desperate, he’d give it a go. Maybe he could find something if he went digging in people’s dreams.

  “Just remember, when you look through someone’s eyes they look through your’s too.”

  What she meant was that he could open the door for spirits to gatecrash.

  “Thank you,” he suddenly felt renewed. A little vigour had been restored.

  “Ah, I have my uses. It’s amazing what life is capable of when you stop to listen…”

  ---------------------------------

  Life certainly worked in mysterious ways. Terry had forgotten how the spirit world had a habit of just nudging you in the right direction when you needed it most. To be fair it had been a long time since he’d felt so desperately lost.

  His mind was occupied with thoughts of astral projection. Or dream-hijacking as he was beginning to call it. He wasn’t interested in having a little celestial stroll under the full moon in spirit form. He was going to hijack people’s dream worlds and manipulate them. He would take over, and much like the concept of lucid dreaming, he would restructure the dream till the dreamer replayed the events of the “night of the crime”. Maybe there would be some small overlooked detail that connected the victims. Well, that was his hope at least.

  He’d borrowed a book from Magda, promptly devouring it in one sitting and then furthered his reading via the internet. It wasn’t a well documented topic, the concept of entering people’s dreams. Plenty of talk of spirits entering our dreams, but nothing of anyone else taking control of them. As Terry filled the tub up with yet more hot water he realised he almost sounded like a movie star from that movie about dreams. What was it called… Inception? Was that it?

  Just because people didn’t talk about it didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. He had memorised the location of all the victims, so he would know where to navigate to on the astral plane. The only thing Terry was apprehensive about was the actual astral projection itself. Or rather the projecting part. He’d never so much as lucid dreamt, let alone left his body.

  Terry wasn’t entirely sure he could do it. The idea of un-tethering from his body sounded pretty frightening. But he had to try. He had very limited time before the abductor struck again.

  Terry heard the front door go.

  He instantly bolted upright, the water splashing around him. A little even overflowing onto the floor.

  There was no paranoia like it, now he knew an intruder had broke into his home every sound sent his senses into overdrive.

  He heard a set of keys being dropped in a dish, then a new deadbolt being engaged.

  Then, slowly, someone came up the stairs.

  Terry had been very preoccupied with the idea of dream hijacking that he’d not even considered his situation with Matt. It occurred to him that he wasn’t quite so angry anymore. He was still raw and pissed off, but he didn’t feel the need to punch him.

  The floorboards creaked and afte
r a few moments, Matt appeared at the door.

  “I’m sorry, I’m a dickhead and I didn’t mean to hurt you…” he looked apologetic. He looked crushed, like the man had lost the world and then turned his back on the moon too. Which of course, he had done.

  Terry didn’t respond. He said nothing.

  “I didn’t mean it. I just said it because I was hurting. You’re a father, a wonderful fucking father to both of my children. In fact, you’re a better father than I am…”

  Terry noticed that Matt was holding a bottle of red wine behind his back.

  Slowly, his husband inched into the room.

  He was dressed in clothes Terry didn’t recognise. Purple chinos and a mustard shirt. Probably Raven’s current boyfriend’s.

  “I feel like I let her down. Because I wasn’t home. If I’d have been home, then maybe we’d have caught this guy…” Matt lowered his head. Obviously the time to think had made him revaluate his actions and realise just what an asshole he had been.

  “We wouldn’t have caught him… I’m the fucking psychic and even I didn’t see it coming…” Terry was fully aware there was an irony to his statement. It was true. You’d think a psychic would see it coming, but much like you never see a psychic winning the lottery, they’re oblivious to their own future. Probably drive us insane if we knew everything to come, Terry thought.

  “But I let you down. I wasn’t there and you got hurt. Our daughter got taken…”

  Matt really was wallowing in his sense of shame and guilt.

  “Matt. Even if you were here, you wouldn’t have saved us. He came with two darts, one for each of us. He expected you to be home…”

  “How do you know that?”

  Terry realised he’d just suddenly put himself in a corner. He’d never told Matt that his father liked to haunt the Logan household on a pretty regular basis. He’d mentioned the odd visit in passing but Matt was under the impression his dad just called by from time to time. To check on the kids etcetera.

  “Your Dad was here…”

  “Did he see him?”

  “No. The guy came wearing a balaclava, the only thing Jim noticed was how he moved. He moved like a soldier…”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “I haven’t had chance. We’ve been busy and… It didn’t seem that important. What good does it do us? We can’t drag every soldier into the station can we…”

  Matt was going to argue different but he stopped. Terry had a point.

  “I’m sorry babe…”

  Terry nodded. Forgiven, but not quite forgotten.

  “I brought wine…”

  “I can’t drink tonight. I need to be focused. I think I may found something that’ll help…”

  “What?”

  “Astral projection. I have a theory that maybe I could hijack a dream and use it as a vessel to replay the night each victim was taken,”

  “Come again?” Matt’s mind was blown.

  “What I propose to do is; visit each of the families and enter their dreams. In their dreams I’ll force them to relive the 24 hours that their child got abducted. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll notice something that can link all the victims together, some insignificant detail that we keep overlooking…”

  “Really?”

  Terry nodded. The look of seriousness on his face wowed Matt. He was dedicated to this incredible sounding mission.

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’m gonna astral project…”

  “And how do you do that?”

  “Well, I can either do it in a dream or I can hypnotise myself…”

  Matt didn’t respond. It felt surreal and thus more than a little crazy. Astral projection? Dream hijacking?

  He understood Terry’s idea, but by God did it sound crazy.

  “Terry Logan, you never fail to surprise me…”

  “We’re out of options Matt, I’ll try anything to get our daughter back…”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN:

  “TERRY!” It was a shout and it roused him instantly. He’d been asleep, he’d fallen asleep.

  He was confused, disorientated and lost

  The room was dark, it was still late. He rubbed his face. Damn. He’d fallen asleep, he’d been trying to hypnotise himself and fallen asleep instead.

  Next to him Matt exhaled softly.

  “Goddamit” he whispered aloud.

  He sat up. He was naked and the night air felt cool on his skin.

  “Terry!” Came the shout again. A female voice. Somewhere distant.

  He threw his attention around the room but there was nobody in the pools of darkness.

  Was he dreaming? Was he astral projecting?

  Suddenly he doubted himself.

  He glanced down. No, there was no sleeping self still laid in bed. He touched his arms, they felt real to the touch. Was he asleep? Or was he awake?

  “Terry!”

  He flung his legs out of bed, groped blindly for the discarded pyjama bottoms. He slipped them on, only realising as he stood they were Matt’s. He had to tie the drawstring, there was no way he’d walk five steps without them falling to his ankles.

  Where was this voice coming from?

  It felt echoed, disturbed by acoustics. He wasn’t sure he was awake…

  He deftly navigated the bedroom, avoiding hitting the furniture with his knees and shins. He had made many a mid-night blind journeys to toilet. He knew his way.

  He stepped into the hall and noticed light pouring from around the door to his left.

  Christine’s room.

  It felt like a moment conjured up from a horror movie.

  He cautiously approached the door.

  Electricity tingled up and down his arms, his hairs rising to stand on end.

  He turned the handle and opened the door.

  She was stood there, a hand on each hip and she was scrutinising her toy box. He could only see the back of her head but he could picture the look of puzzlement on her face all the same. She titled her head to the side and regarded her conundrum.

  “C-Chris?” He whispered.

  “Terry!” She spun on the spot and beamed the brightest and warmest smile.

  “You’re…” he couldn’t finish. The words resisted to be spoken. To speak it meant it was true. She didn’t seem in the least perturbed by her situation.

  “Did you hear me shouting?”

  “Was that you?”

  “I tried shouting Daddy but I don’t think he heard me…”

  Terry didn’t know what to say.

  “…Where’s Bridget?”

  “With Nana…”

  “Why?” It was an innocent question. Little Christine was completely oblivious.

  “…Because when the bad man took you away, we wanted her to be safe…”

  “Oh…” She paused, then asked, “Why did the bad man take me away?”

  “I don’t know sweetheart…” Terry felt the compulsion to sob unfurl in his chest, but was there any tears left to shed? It was a tragic and poignant moment; knowing the little girl had gone to her death oblivious. He bottled the emotions, he needed to be rational. He needed be clear headed.

  “Christine… Can you remember what the man looked like?”

  “Kinda… He was scary, I didn’t like him…” She stooped and tried to lift the lid on her toy box. Her hands ghosted straight through it. She huffed in frustration.

  It took a long while for a ghost to learn to materialise hard enough to be able to manipulate physical things, it was something that came with practice. Sometimes, especially if a ghost wasn’t concentrating on something and did it without thinking, they could manipulate the physical world. For example, Christine hadn’t considered the fact she couldn’t pull the light cord in her room and had done so without thinking. She did it as a subconscious action. When she wanted to move the toy box lid, she couldn’t because she was thinking about it.

  It was the same sort of concept as achieving a miraculous result
and realising you literally couldn’t have done if it if you’d have tried.

  Terry crossed to the toy box and lifted the lid for her.

  She didn’t seem particularly grateful, if anything she was still disgruntled she couldn’t do it herself. Terry didn’t know how much of her current spirit form Christine actually understood.

  “Why do you glow?”

  Terry opened his mouth but ultimately said nothing. How would he begin to explain these profound concepts to a five year old?

  “Is it like a superpower? Are you like a superhero? Like spiderman?” The excitement in her voice escalated.

  “I’m better than spiderman…” Terry thought of Bridget. Bridget had been the child with the spiderman interest, Christine had obviously sponged the details from her bigger sister.

  “Why doesn’t Daddy glow? He’s a superhero too…”

  It gave Terry a bittersweet smile. It broke his heart that someone so innocent, so naïve and so loving had been stolen from the world.

  “Because Daddy has different superpowers…”

  “Does Bridget have superpowers?”

  “I don’t know, she’s not old enough yet…”

  “Will I, when I grow up?”

  Poor little girl, she was never going to grow up. It pierced Terry, the dawning realisation that the sweet little girl would never grow to be a woman. Her life had ended before it had even truly begun. It pierced him to his core and he needed a minute to compose himself.

  “Christine… Can you tell me what happened when the bad man took you away…?”

  “I dunno…” The little girl shrugged. She suddenly decided the toy box was a waste of her attention and she swiftly jumped onto her bed. She curled into a foetal position and faced the wall.

  “Christine, you’re not in trouble… I need to know about the bad man, so I can catch him. So-”

  “I don’t remember!” She shouted.

  “Christine!” He crept to her bed. His hand instinctively reached out for her, but he knew it would just fall through her. It was another stinging reminder of a truth he was desperately delaying processing.

  “Christine… Me and Daddy, we need to find this bad man…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it…” She whined.