Chapter 2 #2
The strange conversation with the man played on my mind.
What had he meant by his comment – the like of you?
It was a strange turn of phrase, but hadn’t been said in a derogatory way.
Had he been implying that I was somehow unique, or special, or different?
Had there been a hint of condescension in his tone?
I tried to decipher the meaning, but only self-doubt plagued me.
All my childhood anxieties bubbled up, rising to the surface of my mind.
Different.
Wrong.
Strange.
I tried to ignore them. But no matter what I did, the words kept repeating in my head, over and over and over.
The like of you.
Different.
Wrong.
Strange.
I struggled to enjoy the rest of the drive, finally resorting to playing some music to drown out my thoughts.
That and the winding, monotonous curves of the road quickly relaxed my body.
The barren, rocky slopes I drove through soon gave way to trees and shrubbery.
Forests materialised, springing up so suddenly it appeared as if a colossal hand had held back the rocks, allowing the woods to flourish.
I journeyed past lochs and castles and soon began to notice signs directing me to Lochinver. Mentally tallying the hours, I realised I had made decent progress. It had been just over three hours since I’d left Inverness earlier that morning, including the brief stop at the bridge.
When I drove into the main street of town, I pulled into a car park and stepped out to get my bearings.
I had arranged via email to pick up the house key from the local post shop and was fortunate to spot the familiar sign in the window of the nearby supermarket, just across the road – convenient, as I needed to buy a few grocery items before heading to the cottage.
No more than twenty minutes later, essentials secured and keys in hand, I left the store with the shopkeeper’s well wishes ringing in my ears.
The short drive to the rental took no time at all.
It was situated on the edge of town, about a half-mile up a winding road, surrounded by trees on two sides and the loch on the other.
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face when I pulled into the driveway.
Culag Cottage, the wooden sign read, and I knew the woods surrounding it were similarly named.
My recent dreams had left me with an urgent desire to explore the local forests, and having one right on the doorstep was a drawcard.
The urge – the yearning – to go in there pulled at me.
But I dragged my eyes away, turning my thoughts to other things, such as unpacking.
I would do that, then take a stroll back to the village for an early dinner.
The weather, however, had other plans, and it wasn’t too long before rain set in.
My leisurely walk was regrettably postponed.
Instead, I found myself idling away the hours, lost in the melodies of my music as I slowly organised my belongings.
It wasn’t until I dragged my heavy tote to the table that I remembered the papers from my father’s study I had hastily shoved inside.
With a steaming cup of tea perfuming the air, and the pitter-patter of rain sounding upon the roof, I began sorting through the pages, determined to make a dent in the chore.
Thirty minutes later, three distinct piles had formed before me, each with its own purpose.
The legal documents were carefully secured in a plastic binder, while the letters were haphazardly shoved back into their envelopes.
And then there was my father’s medical journal.
A book he seemed to always have on hand.
It was a strong reminder of his absence, as I had never seen him without it.
I knew I would have to review each pile in the coming days, but for now, I simply sorted them, happy to have made some form of progress. It was as I was placing the last letter on the ‘to be read later’ pile that the return address caught my eye.
Lochinver Police Station.
Why would my father have correspondence from the police? And even more curiously, why was it from this town? My interest was piqued, so I immediately extracted the letter and started to read.
Police Station, Main Street
Lochinver
LAIRG
IV27 4LX
November 27th
Dear Dr. Anderson,
I trust you and your family are well, despite the undoubtedly troubling times. Being a father myself, I understand the torment you must be suffering. The loss of a child, any child, is never an easy matter, and not one that I would take lightly.
As a fellow professional, one just as committed to serving the community as you are, I write to you with the utmost respect.
However, it is with a heavy heart that I inform you no further evidence has come to light.
In fact, there are no leads at all for us to continue down this road of inquiry, and as such I will be closing this case.
Know that my thoughts, and those of the townsfolk of Lochinver, remain with you and your family during this challenging time.
With kindest regards,
Thomas Malcolm
Chief Constable
Lairg Police Department
I read it again, certain I had misunderstood it the first time. A thousand questions ran through my mind. I had been missing! What else could it mean?
Reaching for my phone, I dialled Sarah’s number, the incessant ringing grating on my nerves. Pick up, pick up.
When there was no answer, I was forced to leave a message. “Hi, Sarah, it’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this. I found a letter in Dad’s papers that I want to ask you about. It says I went missing! Anyway, just… please call me back.”
I hung up, staring at the black screen, wondering what I should do. My mind flitted back and forth with so many unanswered questions. Why had my parents not told me this? How long had I been missing?
I reread the letter, again pondering what to do next. When my eyes caught the address in the top corner, an idea sprang to mind. Snatching up my keys and jacket, I ran to the car.