Missing 2
Previous Instalments:
1910 A.D.
The biting January wind had begun, it whipped around Thomas stinging his cheeks as he hunched deeper into the meagre shelter of a derelict doorway; Manchester felt particularly oppressive this day – Lydia’s disappearance had spurred on a desperate search for him and Elizabeth, and now, they had to bring in Miquel and Norina; taking them from their objective.
Finding a working telephone had proven to be a herculean task; he had tried three different pubs and each had claimed ‘Lines down’ or ‘Out of Order; the landlords eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and indifference.
Finally though he stumbled upon a small, barely -lit tobacconist, it’s owner a wizened man with a perpetual who grudgingly allowed him a moment with the device in the back, albeit – for a price.
He cranked the handle; the bell jangling with a shrill urgency that echoed within the confines of the small shop; after what felt like an eternity, a familiar voice crackled through the speaker “Wilson Here; who is this?”
“Sir, it’s Thomas Davidson” he swallowed the lump in his throat “I…, I need your help sir; I am in Manchester”
There was a pause before the sound of rustling paper came from the other end of the phone “Thomas?; what in gods name are you doing in Manchester, and why are you phoning me from a civilian line?”
“It’s Lydia sir; she has gone missing; I…, I think something has happened…”
Thomas began to explain the situation as concisely as he could; from the waiting to their desperate searching – the chilling sense of how everything felt, that something had gone wrong; terribly wrong.
Wilson listened in silent, his initial irritation had slowly given way to a more serious tone.
“Alright Thomas; stay put” Wilson said “I will gather what lads I can spare and we’ll come to Manchester; give me the address you are staying; this…this sounds very complicated”
Relief washed over Thomas; so potent it almost made him weak “Thank you sir; thank you” providing the address the connection came to an end as Thomas replaced the receiver; the tobacconist eyed Thomas expectantly – Thomas, making his way over paid the man, the coins felt heavy in his hand.
Stepping back out into the streets, the winds whipped him once again, though his worry about Lydia for now would settle, knowing he’ll soon have Wilson’s help.
The darkness pressed in on Lydia; heavy and suffocating, her head throbbed; vicious and rhythmic – it seemed to be in sync with the frantic fluttering of her heart, disorientation clawed at her, were was she?
She tried to move – her arms though were behind her back, it wasn’t simply her wrists that felt the course rope biting into her skin, but someone made a serious effort to keep her restrained, she could feel the same restrictive restraint keeping her elbows unmovable – her attempts to pull were futile, she was unable to get any movement – panic flared, hot and sharp; a feeling of vulnerability she was not use too.
Slowly; agonizingly, fragments of memories began to surface – the sudden assault when she was out in the street, a sickening thud that had slammed against the back of her head, before a second came at her forehead when she had turned.
She shifted as best she could; the floor was cold and damp, the air thick with the stench of rot – but, there was something else, something subtle, it smelt like incense wafting along with other smells – musty, earthy and something acrid and faintly metallic that made her stomach churn.
She shifted her gaze towards the direction of the light from a doorway; she could just about make out movement in the next room; she struggled to focus, fighting through the fog of a concussion.
A hooded figure made his way through the doorway; his eyes landed onto Lydia, he simply grinned at her “Ah…, awake are we?” he said, his voice was harsh, rough – but it was clear he was not from Britain, his accent indicated German “Finding you in the street was very fortuitous”
“She’s awake?” a woman questions; the hooded man turns to look behind him, while Lydia can’t see his movement, the hooded individual acknowledged the question with a nod “Then we need to keep her that way for when Master Smythe arrives”
The realisation she was with Cultists finally clicked, not just any either – those that served her father, fear; cold and visceral coiled in her gut, it was very visible in her eyes, the hooded man that had noticed her awake also took notice of the expression when he looked back to her, a grin curved his lips “A Father coming to collect his daughter” he said “Being able to reunite Father and Daughter; it is a good feeling” he added, though his tone was mocking, he knew Lydia was terrified, slowly though he returned back beyond the doorway and out of Lydia’s gaze
Thomas pushed open the door of the safehouse, the scent of coffee and tea was wafting through the air; it was a welcome smell; Miquel was already there, perched on the worn armchair, a cup of tea sat on the small table in front of him; beside him sat Norina – she was nervously picking at the loose fabric at the bottom of her shirt – Elizabeth though was stood by the window, she was sipping coffee, when she noticed Thomas she nearly choked on her drink causing her to start coughing “Thomas!” she practically shouted, moving towards him quickly “What took you so long; did you manage to get in touch with someone that can help us?”
“Yes” Thomas nods “Wilson says he will get some of our regiment and come to Manchester to help us”
There was a look of relief on Elizabeth’s face “That is some good news at least” she moved away, dropping herself down to the floor and leaning back against the wall
Miquel watched as Thomas came over and sat near him; he reached over and clapped him on the shoulder “We’ll find her brother” he said, trying to offer a sense of reassurance
Norina; being unable to effectively communicate with them had to rely on expressions and gestures; Miquel looked towards her; reaching over, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and offered a reassuring smile.
The room fell silent; the weight of shared anxiety pressed down on them; Thomas knew Wilson’s arrival would provide them a significant advantage, his connections and strategic mind were invaluable – but, he was also well aware time was running out, every hour that passed the more danger, he was certain, Lydia would be in
Elizabeth though, finally broke that silence “I need to send a message” she declared
Thomas looked towards her; he frowned “To who?”
Elizabeth hesitated a moment, she looked towards them carefully “My mother” she said, the mere suggestion sets an ominous atmosphere
While Thomas had never witnessed Cathryn in action – the suggestion made him uneasy, from what Lydia told him, Cathryn was a force of nature, she was kind and caring, yes; but, she held the capability of pure and unimaginable ruthlessness; Thomas looked to Miquel and Norina – Norina had a worried expression, his eyes then returned to Elizabeth.
“Are you sure that is a good idea?” he questioned “Bringing Cathryn in…”
Elizabeth interrupted him “We don’t have a choice” she told him, her voice was tight “If something has happened to my sister; if someone has hurt her….” Her voice trailed off, her eyes hardened “My mother will tear Manchester apart just to find her”
Thomas understood her desperation; he shared it, but – to bring in Cathryn, that would be a double-edged sword, she would have a single-minded goal, and if she was as brutal as she had been made out to be, she would certainly leave a trail of destruction
Elizabeth shifted her attention in the direction of the window, the clattering of rain as it began to fall seemed louder than it actually was, filling the renewed silence that descended.
In the countryside a locomotive thundered its way along the rail, smoke was billowing into the sky; resting in one of the passenger carriages; George Smythe sat with an unreadable expression as he looked towards the window.
Written By: Westley H.
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