3 July 2012
‘It’s
on the news again,’ said Margaret as she painfully switched on the television
with arthritic hands and turned down the sound. The face of a young, smiling
boy filled the screen for a few seconds before going back to the newscaster.
‘Don’t worry, love. They’ll get bored
soon enough,’ replied her husband Jack from the kitchen.
‘I really hope you’re right, Jack. I
don’t know how much longer I can do this,’ she said, switching off the
television and slowly rising from her antique armchair. It was getting much
harder for Margaret to pull herself up these days and she knew she’d need to
start using a walking stick soon.
Jack came into the living room carrying
a tray laden with food. Margaret marvelled at how well he still looked compared
to her. They were both in their seventies now, but Jack could still pass for a
young sixty year old. He still had a full head of hair, but it had long since
turned silver and the glint in his dashing blue eyes was still there.
Jack’s eyes had been the thing that had
attracted her all those years ago. He’d been a dashing salesman with a silver
tongue who’d come to her father’s house to try and sell cleaning products. It
had been love at first sight for both of them.
‘What is it today?’ asked Margaret
pointing to the old plastic tray. They’d bought it on their last holiday in
Spain ten years ago, but it was only used for special occasions. There was a
picture of a matador holding out his red cape and a bull running towards it,
painted on it. They’d both loved it.
‘Spaghetti bolognaise and rice pudding,’
he replied holding out the tray. ‘I hope he likes it.’
Margaret shuffled over to the door and
held it open for Jack. As he made his way into the hallway and over to another
closed door, Margaret followed whilst digging a key out of the pocket of her
long white cardigan.
‘Do you think he’s still sleeping?’ she asked
apprehensively.
‘Probably,’ replied Jack. ‘There was
more than enough tranquiliser in his lunch.’
Margaret remained holding the key for
some time while tentatively looking between her husband and the locked door.
‘I’ll tell you what, love. I’ll open the
door and check on the boy while you hold the tray. If he’s awake and tries
anything, I’ll be ready. How about that?’ Jack held the tray out for his wife.
With a slight nod, Margaret took the
tray and gave the key to Jack. As he handed over the tray, he felt it tremble
in his wife’s hands.
Taking a deep breath, Jack placed the
key in the lock and turned it. There was a reassuring click. Taking the handle,
he braced himself against the door and slowly opened it, making sure he didn’t
leave any space between the door and the wall.
The small room beyond was completely
silent with only a dull light breaking through the thin, blue curtains. Jack
entered the room and headed over to the small bed where a still figure lay.
‘It’s okay, Margaret. He’s still
asleep,’ said Jack, leaning over the sleeping form.
Margaret entered the room as quickly as
she could and placed the tray on the bedside table. She then turned on the
lamp, revealing the face of the boy.
‘I still can’t believe how much he looks
like him,’ she said, watching the sleeping boy.
‘I know,’ replied Jack. ‘I just hope he
understands why we had to do this.’
‘When he’s ready, I’m sure he will,’
Margaret gave her husband a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.
‘He’ll be waking up soon. We should go,’
said Jack, taking his wife’s hand and helping her shuffle out of the room. He
then locked the door behind them and helped Margaret back into the living room
and back onto her armchair.
‘Can I get you anything, love?’ he
asked.
‘Just some water please.’
As Jack made his way to the kitchen, the
doorbell rang.
‘I’ll get it,’ he said as Margaret made
to get up and went to answer the door.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Jack as he
opened the door to find a burly policeman standing on the doorstep. Jack was
taken aback by the large birth mark covering almost half the policeman’s face.
‘Hello sir,’ said the policeman. ‘I’m
carrying out door to door enquiries into the disappearance of a thirteen year
old boy, Vincent Travers.’ He looked at his notepad as he said the name.
‘The boy from the news?’ asked Jack,
hoping he sounded sincere whilst trying not to stare at the officer’s birth
mark.
‘Yes sir,’ replied the officer. ‘I only
have a few questions if you can spare a few moments.’
‘Of course. Anything to help.’ Beads of
sweat started to form on his forehead.
‘Thank you, sir. Can you tell me if you
were home on the night of the first of April, Mr…?’ asked the policeman,
looking at his notepad.
‘High. Jack High. I was,’ replied Jack.
‘I’m not really fit enough to get out and about much these days.’
The officer wrote something in his
notebook before continuing.
‘Did you see anything or anyone
suspicious hanging about that day?’
‘Not that I can recall.’
‘Is everything alright, Jack?’ shouted
Margaret from the living room.
‘Everything’s fine, dear,’ replied Jack.
‘My wife,’ he explained to the officer. ‘She’s not able to get up and about
much these days either so I look after things for her.’
‘Will she have seen anything?’ asked the
officer.
‘Unlikely,’ replied Jack. ‘Our living
room window looks out to our back garden. She spends the majority of her time
in there watching the television.’
The policeman gave a knowing nod and
again, wrote in his notebook.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr High,’ said
the policeman. ‘If you do think of anything else you might have forgotten,
please contact your local office.’
‘I will,’ assured Jack closing the door
as quickly as possible as the officer left.
‘Who was that?’ asked Margaret as Jack
entered the living room, wiping sweat from his face.
‘That was the police,’ he replied. ‘They
were making door to door enquiries, looking for the boy.’
‘What?’ Margaret made to get up.
‘It’s alright, dear,’ reassured Jack,
placing a wrinkled hand on her bony shoulder. ‘I told him neither of us saw
anything suspicious. It sounds as if they’re still treating it as a
disappearance.’
‘Are you sure? What if they suspect us?’
Tears started forming in Margaret’s grey eyes.
‘Why would they suspect us?’ asked Jack.
‘We’re just an innocent, elderly couple. How could we possibly kidnap a
thirteen year old boy? Surely he’d easily overpower us?’
‘I hope you’re right. I can’t lose him
again.’ Margaret wept.
Jack sat down on the arm of the chair
and held his wife as she shuddered under the weight of her grief. Silent tears
formed in his eyes and he wiped them away before she could see.
From across the hallway a dull thudding
could be heard. ‘Please let me out,’ pleaded a weak voice as the thudding
continued.
Holding his wife closer, Jack whispered,
‘It’s all going to be alright, love.’
Lost Treasure - Chapter 1 • Opuss № I